


Summer

by shawsameen



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, slight background john/carter because we were robbed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-08 12:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14694330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shawsameen/pseuds/shawsameen
Summary: Legs that go on for miles or not, Shaw, if given the chance, will not hesitate to absolutely throttle Root.title taken from the song 'summer' by family reunion, and also because this is a shameless shoot summer camp counselor au.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm three years too late but i just spent the last few weeks binge watching poi and now i'm emo over these little gay bitches. the outline i have in my head is set for three chapters but that may or may not change, and the rating definitely will go up sometime in the near future. anyway, i hope you enjoy this fic as much as shaw enjoys root's legs in it

_Leggy._ That’s the word Shaw would use to describe her new fellow camp counselor.

Actually, there are plenty of words she’d use but almost all of them are expletives and she’s been warned by Harold more than once that she has to keep her language in check around the kids. The summer job pays good even it’s just that, a _summer job_ , and she needs all the money she can get to save up for med school. There’s simply no point in losing a source of income just because she got fired for saying “fuck” too many times in front of a twelve year-old.

But that doesn’t mean she can’t think it. Over and over again, really, as Root, the newest counselor at Camp Thornhill, shoots her a suggestive smirk as she bends down to scoop up the soccer ball Shaw’s been watching the kids kick around for the past fifteen minutes. Root straightens and the string of curses coursing through Shaw’s brain is briefly interrupted by that word again: leggy.

Root is wearing the same standard pair of khaki shorts that most of the other female counselors wear because it’s upstate New York, and it’s hot. But Root is tall, and lithe, and even though she’s been doing her best to get on Shaw’s nerves ever since the initial counselor meeting on the first day back for the summer, Shaw still has eyes. And she knows when to appreciate the view. After all, nobody ever said that beauty and annoyance couldn’t go hand-in-hand; it’d be terribly untrue, considering most of the male population were living, breathing examples proving otherwise.

“Careful, Shaw,” one of the living, breathing male idiots says from his spot beside her. “Don’t want Harold to catch you drooling. You’re already on thin enough ice.”

Shaw turns her scowl from Root to John, who’s just staring at her with a shit-eating grin. Most days he’s content to sit with her in companionable silence, until he’s not. She’s not sure why she continues to hang around with him because of it. “Fu—shut up, Reese,” she grumbles grouchily.

His smile deepens at her near slip-up, eyes sliding past her to Finch, who is observing the group as a whole, hand gripped around the clipboard that never seems to leave his side, though Shaw is pretty sure he never writes anything on it. It’s probably just a single piece of paper that reads: _be a pain in Shaw’s ass._ Except he’s proper and doesn’t curse, so it’s probably more along the lines of: _pester Miss Shaw incessantly._ Either way, he’s far enough that even if she hadn’t corrected herself, he probably wouldn’t have heard her. Still, Shaw doesn’t put anything past him. Sometimes it’s almost like he’s got cameras installed everywhere around this place, the things he knows.

Considering it’s a computer programming/physical activity summer camp, she wouldn’t be surprised if Harold could do more with a computer than he lets on with that stupid little clipboard display.

Shaw’s brought out of her grousing paranoia by a giddy cheer, eyes snapping back up to the field and, naturally (annoyingly) to Root, the source of said cheer. The long length of her wavy ponytail swings and her arms are thrown up in anticipation as Gen, one of the only kids Shaw doesn’t entirely mind, dives to the side and snatches the soccer ball mid-air before it has a chance to connect with the net behind her. Her landing is not as smooth as it could’ve been, but Shaw watches the half-failed tuck-and-roll with a small sense of pride that she doesn’t let flicker on her face.

“Nice move,” Reese comments. “You teach her that one?”

She’s saved from answering as Root blows the whistle and walks up to the picnic table she’s sitting incorrectly on (Harold had shot her a stern look for that, but she pretended to be too engrossed in the game to notice and kept her butt firmly planted where it was, feet on the bench), though now she’s confronted with the challenge of dealing with Root. John briefly ducks his head in a silent greeting. Shaw, as is her custom, scowls.

“Whew! It sure is hot out here today. I’m drenched.” The innuendo, as always, drips off of Root’s tongue and covers Shaw like a thick, unwanted blanket. It _is_ hot. They’re _all_ sweaty. The innuendo is blatant and shameless and John looks like he wants to laugh at the way Shaw remains stubbornly unaffected by it, jaw working against her will. She doesn’t stare at the way Root’s baby hair sticks to the nape of her neck. Or the way sweat glistens where her collarbone is peeking out from beneath her neon green polo shirt. Or the way Root’s slight panting is causing Camp Thornhill’s stitched logo to heave on her chest.

No, she’s watching Gen over Root’s shoulder where she’s talking to some boy Shaw hasn’t entirely liked the look of since day one. _It’s that stupid Bieber-esque haircut_ , she tells herself.

“Could go for a swim later, bust out my bikini,” Root continues. Her next words are directed to John, though Shaw can feel Root’s eyes on her nonetheless. “Is the lake on the itinerary for later?”

“Wasn’t planned, but it’s almost one-hundred today. I’m sure even Harold can agree to some impromptu cooling off. Maybe after the eleven a.m. coding class, before lunch.” Shaw feels his grin melting into the side of her head. “Dibs on not life-guarding, though.”

Shaw tears her gaze from where it’s focused on nothing in particular and glares at him. “Don’t even.”

“What? Dibs is dibs.”

“I wasn’t even paying attention.”

John’s look screams the word “doubtful”, even though he himself does not. She sighs heavily, headache already coming on just with the thought of having to sit on the lifeguard’s perch for an hour; none of the surrounding trees ever seem to cast a far enough shadow to cover the perch, leaving whoever is sitting there on the verge of catching on fire.

“Fine,” she says testily. “Stay pasty.”

“Great. I’ll go talk to Harry about it now,” Root says cheerily, bounding away with a hop in her step that Shaw wouldn’t necessarily call a skip, it’s just... all very _Root_ -like. Annoying. Leggy.

Shaw sighs again, a thought just occurring to her. “I won’t even be able to eat until _after_ the stupid thing.”

* 

Considering she doesn’t know anything about computers, Shaw’s still outdoors during the eleven a.m. coding class, tasked with showing her own group of kids self-defense maneuvers. Reese is her sparring partner, if only because she loves taking any chance she can get at kicking his ass. Carter stands nearby, observing, but mostly making sure none of the kids try to copy Shaw prematurely and accidentally end up punching one another in the jaw.

After Shaw flips Reese onto his back for the third time, she decides she’s pretty much gotten her payback for him cornering her into serving lifeguard duty that afternoon. She and Carter share a smile as Reese grumbles something underneath his breath, dusting his shirt off and smoothing his usually neatly-gelled hair down with his palm.

The kids practice on the dummies provided to them by Harold’s budget, knowing Shaw enough by now not to try anything funny or out of line unless they want her wrath. She observes them flip and pin and hold the dummies with a stern approval, though really, she can’t help but clock Root moving around in the makeshift cabin classroom through the propped-open door out the corner of her eye. The cabin, about thirty feet away, is mostly dark but illuminated by the dull glow of computer screens and what Shaw assumes to be the overhead Root is teaching from. Shaw understands fuck-all about coding and tunes out the conversation whenever Finch begins droning on about it. She thinks Carter does the same, and Reese, for the most part, at least tries before getting bored. She thinks Zoe knows more than she lets on, or at least more than she’s interested in being, but that’s Zoe’s business.

Root, however, can sometimes be even worse than Finch, though Shaw guesses that’s why she got her job. Shaw and the others have been counselors for the past few years, and even if that weren’t enough, they’re all from the city. Root’s a newcomer, just popped up the day of camp where Finch announced she would be the newest addition to their team to pick up the extra computer classes given the increase of camper interest in the that part of the program. The rest of them had grumbled their hellos (okay, _Shaw_ had grumbled, and even then it hadn’t been very vocal and more of just a look of acknowledgment) and moved on with sorting the campers into cabins and arranging group/counselor assignments.

But Shaw quickly learned that Root, when she wanted, could drone on about all types of technology. Part of Shaw even suspects that Root could pull off some borderline, if not outright illegal stuff if Shaw were inclined to show the interest in that sort of thing, which she definitely isn’t. It’s not the illegal part that bothers her, just the Root part.

It’s almost like Root took that half-hearted grumble from Shaw that very first day and decided to make a friend out of her. Or _something,_ considering some of the shit Root says to her is decidedly less friendly than it is flirty. The thing is, Shaw doesn’t really know what Root wants from her. A rise? To flirt back?

 _Maybe a punch to the face,_ Shaw’s mind supplies. It’s unhelpful if only because she knows, realistically, she can’t do it. Not if she wants to keep this job.

Better to take out her frustrations on one of the dummies. Or John.

The shrill bell rings across the campground, signaling the end of class. The kids shuffle over to the mat Shaw’s standing on and deposit the dummies in a semi-neat pile of limbs, but Shaw’s still caught in her reverie and watches as kids file out of the cabin’s door. Root’s last to come out, her little trio of nerds gathered around her as she talks animatedly about something Shaw can’t hear from where she’s standing but has no doubt she wouldn’t be able to comprehend anyway. Only belatedly does she realize that Root’s making her way over to her, and she quickly turns around to help Reese and Carter fold up the mats.

“See, that particular line wouldn’t work. You have to—” As she nears, Shaw hears Root breaks out in a string of nerd dialect that Shaw doesn’t understand, though the enthusiasm is evident in her voice. The excitement doesn’t grate on Shaw’s nerves but instead she feels a small warmth bloom in her sternum, one that she shoves down with a grunt as she swoops up a lone dummy and throws it on the top of the pile.

Weird.

“Are you sure rewriting it would even help, though? It might set us back days, maybe even _weeks._ ” Shaw glances over her shoulder at the wide-eyed boy talking. Casey, she thinks his name is. Lanky and not really quiet, but also not obnoxious. Really, he just doesn’t talk to the physical counselors as much as he does Finch and Root.

“Or we could end up finally solving the damn thing,” the boy next to Casey grouses. Greenfield. Shaw knows his brother, Tim, because he’s in her defense class. He can throw a hard punch, if not a particularly straight one.

And Shaw recognizes the last boy, too. Daizo. She took a little Japanese in school and seems to be one of the few people who can communicate with him, Root and the other two boys included. Belatedly, she realizes she really only recognizes these three kids _because_ they’re always around Root.

Shaw doesn’t let herself think about what that may implicate.

“You guys should get back to your cabin if you want to be changed in time for the lake,” she hears Root saying, and then the three boys are bounding off and suddenly Root is in Shaw’s space, standing directly behind her once she straightens up from picking up a discard granola bar wrapper by her shoe.

Shaw _doesn’t_ jump, nor does she give Root the satisfaction of stepping away, but that just leaves her standing with Root’s nose dangerously close to the shell of her ear, her breath puffing lightly against the back of her neck. Before now, Shaw's never really hated being short.

“What,” she bites out, “are you doing?”

“Waiting,” Root replies calmly.

“For?”

“For you, sweetie.” Root rolls her eyes like Shaw is being ridiculous, her lips twitching in a smile. “Can’t exactly march down to the lake with the troopers all by myself, now can I? Against camp protocol and all that.” She waves her hand in the air dismissively.

Shaw finally steps aside, deciding that letting Root win this one is no big deal. “You _could_ , but Harold would probably crap his pants.”

She thinks Root’s nose wrinkles in disappointment at the space Shaw puts between them, but it also could be from the visual. She doesn’t say anything else, just hums noncommittally and Shaw shares a brief but communicative nod with John— _I’ll put this away_ , he says, but his smile is still teasing her about the whole lake thing. She rolls her eyes, gaze turning into a glare when it falls on to Root and finds her staring at her, that same suggestive smirk she’s been giving her since the beginning on her face again.

Shaw doesn’t ask about it until they're well out of earshot from Reese and Carter. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Hm?”

“The staring,” she clarifies flatly.

“Oh.” Shaw knows that Root had known what she meant. She decides it’s not worth the headache and verbal back-and-forth asking her about that, as well. “Well, obviously, I’m watching you, Sameen.”

“No shit,” she says, and doesn’t check to see if Harold’s creeping around to catch it. “I’m asking you, what for?”

“Maybe I just think you’re cute,” Root teases, eyes crinkling in a smile as Shaw turns to level her with another look. “Can I ask a question now?”

“No,” she says, knowing that Root will ignore her anyway.

She’s right. “Why do _you_ keep watching _me_?”

Shaw very nearly stutters, though she’s subtle enough that Root doesn’t notice. “I haven’t—”

“Sameen, I don’t wear these shorts for nothin’.” Root’s tongue curls around the last syllable in a way that sounds vaguely southern.

“You wear them because it’s the dress code, and because it’s sweltering hot out here.”

“Hm, point,” Root concedes. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you like the way my legs look in them.”

And with that, Root uses said legs to walk ahead of Shaw, leaving her in the proverbial dust. It’s stupid considering what Root had said earlier about them having to walk the kids down to the lake together, and Shaw, though she sort of hates not having the last word, also silently finds relief in not having to defend herself from the fact that she _had_ been checking out Root’s legs any longer.

She shakes her head, shock replaced with irritation. Legs that go on for miles or not, Shaw, if given the chance, will not hesitate to absolutely throttle Root.

* 

Shaw spends the five minutes it takes her to change into her swimsuit half-paranoid that Root is going to find some excuse to walk in and tease her some more, but thankfully she’s preoccupied with counting life vests on the other side of the folding screen that separates the changing part of the shed to the stock part, up at the front. However, when Shaw steps out in the standard red one piece Harold had assigned to her the very first summer she came back lifeguard certified, she catches Root pointedly wracking her eyes up her own legs before smirking and turning to the group of oblivious kids in front of them.

There’s not enough time for Shaw to be mad about that before she has to do the standard safety run-down. She goes through the lake rules and the punishments for breaking them before she and Root decide that it’s time to make the trek down. When they’re halfway there, Shaw recognizes Gen’s voice as she asks, “Are we going to be able to use the rope swing?”

“Sadly, the rope’s been decommissioned.” The collective groan that sounds behind her is loud, to say the least. “ _But_ ,” she adds with a smirk, ignoring Root’s curious glance tracing the side of her face, “Reese is coming down with a surprise that I’m sure you’ll all like.”

“The slide?” Shaw doesn’t have to turn around to see that Gen’s eyes are as big as saucers.

Shaw shrugs. “Just have to wait and see, kid,” she says but doesn’t hide the smirk from her face when Gen peers around to look at her.

“All right!” 

Shaw can tell Root wants to ask her what’s going on, but for once, the other woman seems content to let the silence—well, as silent as it can be with a fifteen kid head-count—be. The rest of the walk down is brief and as soon as Shaw and Root give the go ahead, the kids erupt in a cheer and bound towards the water, towels forgotten along the bank. Shaw leaves Root to fold them herself, climbing up the lifeguard perch and getting settled; the sun seems hell-bent on beating down on the perch, the seat hot against the back of her thighs, so she shoves her own towel beneath them and leans back, sliding her sunglasses on her face. She catches Root looking at her out the corner of her eye and despite herself, Shaw smiles—she can tell that Root hadn’t meant for Shaw to spot it that time.

And because payback is due, Shaw, eyes fixed ahead on the kids splashing around in the shallows, flexes her thigh muscles as she crosses her legs at the knee and just manages to see Root’s throat bob in a swallow in her peripheral.

Her amusement is short-lived once the sun’s rays starts burning into her bones. Not even five minutes pass before she begins to feel her sunscreen melting at her temples (and she curses herself for buying the cheap shit; makes a mental note to steal some of Reese’s), but she doesn’t let her discomfort show, even if said discomfort is worsened when Root pulls her shirt over her head and she’s suddenly standing there in nothing but a bikini top and pair of shorts. Root’s smirk peeks out from under the brim of the cap she slips over her ponytail, and Shaw levels a look at nothing in particular.

_Oh, it is on._

Before she gets to make her next move, however, she hears the telltale sounds of feet in flip-flops and looks up to see Root approaching her, that smile still plastered on her face. _Forcing my hand_ , Shaw thinks, and puts on her best poker face. She pretends not to notice that Root notices Shaw’s pretending not to notice her.

It doesn’t really work.

“You know, Sameen,” Root drawls, leaning against the wooden beam that serves as one of the perch’s legs. She crosses her arms beneath her breasts and the movement is enough to distract Shaw momentarily, though she quickly brings her gaze forward—she _is_ on lifeguard duty, after all. It’s not an outright dismissal though and Root knows it, so she continues (not like an outright dismissal would’ve actually deterred her anyway), “Red is _really_ your color.”

Feeling Root unabashedly checking her out, Shaw opens her mouth to retort, but then Root is using the supports to hoist herself up the side of the perch, her hands clutching at the arm for balance and her lips so close to Shaw’s ear that her breath sends a slight shiver down Shaw’s spine.

But then she speaks again. “The swimsuit aside, I especially like the shade of red your cheeks get when you blush whenever I flirt with you.”

“I do _not_ blush,” Shaw snaps, turning her head abruptly to the side to glare. She’s miscalculated how close Root had been to her though, because Root just barely manages to dodge out the way with an excited little gasp. The sound makes the hair on Shaw’s arms stand on end but she doesn’t let the irritation dissipate from her face.

“Sure you don’t, sweetie,” Root replies disbelievingly. “You’re blushing now.”

“It’s _hot_.” Shaw doesn’t cringe at how defensive she sounds, but it’s a near thing. “And you’re—”

Root wiggles her eyebrows, smile deepening. “Hot, too?”

“No,” Shaw grits out. “You aren’t.”

“Ouch. Way to wound a girl,” Root says and she doesn’t actually sound offended, the smile doesn’t leave her face even as Shaw turns her head straight again and quickly scans the lake for any signs of trouble, but the way she continues to watch the side of Shaw’s head with something she can only describe as fondness (at least, that’s how it feels, tickling unpleasantly against her profile) rubs Shaw the wrong way. Before she knows it, she’s opening her mouth and filling the brief void of silence that had formed between them.

“I mean”—and with these two words alone, coming out of Shaw’s mouth in a voice she hardly recognizes even if the signature mumble is still there, Root smugly perks up beside her—“yes, you’re hot. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a pain in my—side.”

Because that’s what it is: fact. Root’s hot. It only takes eyes to surmise that. And it only takes ears to surmise the fact that she’s annoying as all hell.

Predictably, Root lets it go to her head. “Sameen, you really know how to sweet talk them, don’t you?”

There’s a biting remark on the tip of Shaw’s tongue, though what’s actually said (and by a voice that is neither hers nor Root’s) is: “You two sure look chummy.”

Shaw’s head snaps back so fast that she thinks she nearly gets whiplash, and much to her annoyance, Root doesn’t move an inch besides the slight turn of her head to look at Reese, who’d apparently snuck up behind them.

“Just enjoying some girl talk,” Root says innocently.

“I’d hate to hear what Shaw’s version of ‘girl talk’ consists of,” John replies. If his arms weren’t full with giant pieces of plastic, Shaw’s sure he would’ve thrown up some air quotes. Since she’s got both hands free, she turns and gives him a gesture of her own, smirking when he frowns at her finger. “Now, now. You know Harold wouldn’t approve.”

Shaw rolls her eyes. “Fu—”

And just like that Finch appears out of nowhere, rounding the corner a few feet behind John. He reaches them surprisingly quickly given his limp and the steep slope of the hill. “Miss Shaw, I suggest you keep a closer eye on the campers,” he says pointedly. Shaw faces forward with a low grumble of protest that only Root hears, based on the smirk that flits across her face, but Shaw is thankfully saved from further scolding by the master scolder himself. “Miss Groves, do you mind assisting Mr. Reese in setting up the slide?”

“Why, I’d love to.” Shaw notes that Root pretends not to hear the clear tone of disapproval lining Finch’s words, no doubt because Root had been hanging off the side of the lifeguard perch like it was a jungle gym. Right before she plops back down on to the sand, she looks at Shaw and says knowingly, “It was getting kind of hot here, anyways.”

Shaw doesn’t watch Root saunter off, even if the thought of getting to see Root’s entire bare back is kind of enticing, because she can feel Finch’s own beady eyes observing her. She decides to focus as much as she can on her current job, tedious as it is: the most trouble she’s ever encountered on any lifeguarding duty is when one of the inflatable balls had floated away and she’d had to swim after it the previous summer. Uneventful, but at least the water had been a nice reprieve from the sun.

Now not only is the sun making her burn up, but so is something—someone—entirely _else_ , and Shaw fights the urge to fidget.

Thankfully, Reese and Root set up the slide quickly and Shaw’s given a reason to walk around, climbing down from the perch and making her way over to the slope overlooking the deeper part of the lake. She ignores Root as she passes her, leaning over the edge and checking over their handiwork (it’s needless because she knows Reese is nothing but a perfectionist) just to give her something to do.  Still, she’s hyperaware of Root’s gaze on her, and how John’s watching them both.

Shaw’s saved from further teasing by the arrival of Zoe and Carter and their own respective groups of kids. She grins at how John’s gaze twitches between both women, his eyes looking like they’re halfway between bulging out of his head and closing altogether. Carter’s momentarily preoccupied by a missing water shoe so Shaw watches with a smug grin as Zoe rolls her eyes, nudges John’s side with her elbow and says, “I know _I_ look nice. You should tell Carter you think she does too.”

Shaw chuckles quietly and the thin stretch of lips John shoots the two of them is full of sarcasm, as is the ways his eyes crinkle. “Thanks for your help, Zoe.”

“Oh, anytime,” the woman replies, winking at Shaw before falling back to order her campers to form a line. Reese, Root, and Carter are momentarily distracted with doing the same and Shaw watches as Fusco comes up behind all the kids, one of his hands pressed against his side and his lips parted in what Shaw knows to be heaving pants before he’s even made it within her earshot. She’s already smirking at him by the time he joins her, bending down with his hands on his knees for a second before leveling her with a warning glare.

“Don’t even start,” he says, a bit defensively and a lot breathlessly. “It’s over ninety degrees out.”

“Wasn’t going to say anything, Lionel,” she replies smoothly, not bothering to hide her smile as she bends down and picks up a bucket of water by her feet. He watches her warily as she turns and dumps it down the slide, shaking out a few drops near the top.

“Uh, you’re not gonna make me climb back and forth to refill that, are ya?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Shaw glances at Root. “No, had somebody else in mind for that.”

“Who, Crazy Horse?” Fusco asks, following her line of sight. He’s more observant than Shaw gives him credit for. She curses herself when a knowing expression dawns his features and now _he’s_ the one smiling, eyebrows raised. “Oh, okay, I see now.”

“What’re you talking about?” Fusco’s undeterred by the way Shaw practically growls the question out, so she follows up with a scowl and shoves the bucket against his chest with more force than is strictly necessary. She doesn’t particularly care when he has to take a half-step backwards to catch himself from completely falling. “Shut up, or else I’ll change my mind and send you instead,” she says, and stalks off.

She waits underneath the semi-useless shade of a nearby tree until Reese gives the go-ahead that the kids can start going down the slide, rejoining them once she spots that Fusco’s relocated to the other side of the slide to keep the kids in line. Reese mirrors him, letting campers on one at a time, keeping his arm out in front of some of the more jittery ones just in case they try to get to their turn prematurely. The last thing the counselors (Shaw, especially) need is a kid whining because another had come at them full-force and feet first, though she thinks Harold’s reaction if that ever happened would be the worst thing about it all.

Carter, Zoe, and Root are standing in a semi-circle a few feet away, bodies turned towards the edge so that they can keep an eye on the kids below while also chatting amongst themselves. It’s barely noticeable, but Shaw notes the way Root’s standing only a few inches farther from the other two women, her face turned more away, arms folded across her chest. The way her expression brightens when she notices Shaw approaching, however, is completely obvious, so much so that Zoe and Carter exchange a look (though they thankfully don’t comment) before smiling at her.

“We were just talking about weekend plans,” Zoe says in greeting.

“Thinking about hitting up Burton’s for a drink Friday night,” Carter says with a nod. “You two in?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Shaw sees Root straighten slightly at the invitation, almost like she hadn’t been expecting one in the first place. The thought doesn’t sit quite right with Shaw—not that Joss and Zoe would even think to leave her out in the first place, despite not knowing her very well at all, because they aren’t like that. But (and not because she wants to) before she can dwell on it, Root’s expression is as carefree and annoying as ever as she shrugs and says, “Sure, why not.”

Zoe and Carter give Shaw an expectant look. “A beer sure does sound nice,” she replies. “I could really use something stronger and less lame than a juice box right about now.”

The innuendo thankfully does not make it past Root’s lips, but Shaw sees the way her eyes light up with it and remain bright even once John calls out to them over his shoulder. “Does that invitation extend to us?”

“Wouldn’t dream about leaving you boys out,” Joss replies. “Just promise to be on your best behavior. We don’t need your habit of getting us into trouble ruining our first weekend of the summer off.”

John momentarily looks fake-wounded, but the tiny smirk that crosses his face afterward is shit-eating at best. “Hey, the other guy started it.”

“Yeah, and _I_ had to end it,” Shaw butts in, shaking her head. “If Fusco knew how to work his phone properly he would’ve had that video posted all over the internet.”

Zoe makes a small noise of disagreement. “To my memory, by the time that fight broke out, Lionel was too many drinks in to hold a camera steady.”

“But I’m strictly club soda now and Finch’s taught me a thing or two about phones, so next time I’ll be ready,” Lionel defends, and Carter is already sighing in exasperation and telling the rest of them that one, there will be no fights; and two, she’s implementing a drink limit because she doesn’t trust Fusco, as the only sober one, to handle all of them on his own if things get too out of hand.

“Aw, does this mean I won’t get to see Sameen drunk on her butt?” Root asks with a pout, and Shaw’s glare goes unnoticed by the way almost all of the others scoff (Reese just smiles).

“Are you joking? Shaw’s the least messy drunk I’ve ever met,” Zoe replies. “It’s almost like she _isn’t_. At all.”

Carter laughs. “But she sure can put them away.”

“You guys are just jealous I win every drinking game you ever try to play,” Shaw replies with smug satisfaction.

“Which is exactly why you’re not allowed to play with us anymore,” Joss retorts, and then she and Zoe are laughing and therefore too distracted to notice Root lean over and whisper in Shaw’s ear, “Don’t pout, sweetie, you can play with me anytime.”

She’s so close that her cheek brushes against Shaw’s when her lips stretch into a grin, and she ducks back to avoid Shaw’s swatting hand.

Shaw has half a mind to chuck Root over the hill and into the lake below (a quick onceover tells her that despite Root’s superior height, Shaw would be more than capable of handling her weight), but then that would involve touching her, and the thought of putting her hands on Root’s bare skin makes her feel like a weight is being pressed against her chest. She glares instead, apparently one of the few weapons in her arsenal whenever it comes to Root, one that never wounds like it normally would if used on other people.

And with that thought, she’s suddenly angry. Because Shaw meets people all the time, and she’s concluded that they’re mostly the same—as in, not the same as _her_ —and she’s fine with that. She’s even befriended said people, like John and Lionel and Zoe and Joss, and it’s all well and good because they get that Shaw isn’t always like them and they understand it. But she’s used to the way most people, like some of the campers’ parents or maybe even a clerk at the grocery store around the corner from her apartment, take one look at her and are off-put by her entire manner. It’s never bothered her. Sometimes she even does it on purpose—glare or scowl or frown before they even open their mouth because she’d rather not make small talk in any way, shape, or form.

It’s different with Root. Root isn’t John or Lionel or Zoe or Joss. Shaw glares at her or bites out an acerbic remark and Root’s unaffected not because she has the advantage of years of friendship like the others, but because it simply does not affect her. She even seems to enjoy it—no, _definitely_ enjoys it, because she’s been poking and prodding Shaw since the very first day they met and with others, Shaw’s always been good at pushing back. But now it’s Root. It’s different with Root.

Belatedly, Shaw thinks that it’s way too hot out to try and deduce what that means.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you may have noticed i upped the rating because *jenny slate voice* i like to have fun
> 
> this kind of got dialogue heavy because i’m a sucker for team machine and i would DIE for john and shaw banter. also thanks for the lovely comments and i’m glad you guys are enjoying this fic so far :)
> 
> (meant to add this to the note before i posted this chapter, but happy shootweek18!)

An hour later Fusco pukes from heat exhaustion and Harold declares an end to the lake fun, resulting in a collective groan from the kids—and maybe even Shaw too, though she’d never own up to it. Root falls into step beside her on the way back to the campgrounds but is uncharacteristically silent, the smile on her face different than the one she normally dons whenever she’s in Shaw’s presence; it’s softer than usual. Content.

Shaw finds herself asking about it against her better judgment. “Okay, what?”

“Hm?” Root doesn’t startle, but the way she glances at Shaw tells her that she’d been distracted. “Oh, nothing.”

“Root.”

“I just had fun, that’s all,” she answers with a small shrug, but the smile morphs into that same smirk Shaw’s begrudgingly beginning to grow accustomed to. “Has your interest in me surpassed that of just my limbs?”

Shaw rolls her eyes, shakes her head. “You just seemed… off.”

Root quietly observes Shaw for a moment and she tries not to squirm under her gaze. It seems like forever goes by before Root speaks again, so it takes Shaw a tad by surprise when she does—she had assumed their conversation had concluded. “When I was little, before my mom got sick, we’d go on an annual summer trip to Lake Corpus Christi. Today reminded me of that, I guess.”

“Your mom,” Shaw begins after a long pause. “Is she okay now?”

Root turns her eyes on her. They’re open and honest and Shaw doesn’t know what to do with it. “She’s dead.”

Shaw nods firmly in response. She doesn’t say sorry, because when her own dad died that very word seemed like the only one anyone seemed capable of saying to her for a very long time. There was nothing to be sorry about. People died. Five year-old Sameen knew that.

She thinks Root knows that too, because Shaw recognizes the small smile that flickers across her face afterward for what it is: gratitude.

They fall into silence, though this time Shaw finds herself content with it too. She spends less time sending suspicious glances Root’s way and more simply observing the nature as she passes by, and when Root’s hand accidentally bumps hers as it swings at her side, Shaw doesn’t instinctively pull away. She _does_ roll her eyes at the grin Root shoots her, but it lacks its normal heat and… Shaw finds herself grinning a little, too.

That night, Shaw dreams of a red smirk and pale skin, of wandering hands settling on smooth thighs, of exaggerated moans and fluttering lashes. She dreams, and when she wakes up she’s got a fire simmering low in her belly that belies the frown she shoots at the ceiling. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth in only a few seconds of fuming deliberation before she’s shoving a hand down the front of her sleep shorts, rubbing in tight, quick circles, her other hand pressed into the cabin wall beside her bed.

It takes all of five minutes but Shaw comes hard, sucking in a sharp breath through clenched teeth as she rides out her orgasm, flashes of long brown hair gripped tight between her fingers searing into her brain. She’s too wired to fall back asleep afterwards; spends a few moments blinking in the darkness and doesn’t get out of bed until black turns to dark blue with the steadily rising sun.

And later, when Root enters the cafeteria for breakfast, Shaw quietly watches her from her table. She spots a blink of creamy skin and crunches on her cereal harder than necessary, glowering at Root’s backside when she reaches over and picks up a bagel from the buffet line. Shaw’s already on her second cup of coffee but it’s still not enough to chase the tendrils of her dream away, especially not when she’s still pleasantly aching all over from it.

Honestly, it’s worse than having the real Root hovering over her should like she normally does. It’s worse than the stupid innuendoes Shaw pretends to hate because she’s suddenly confronted by the sole fact that Root’s dream moans aren’t enough. She wants to hear the real thing.

A loud clatter snaps Shaw out of her thoughts and she guiltily brings her gaze forward to find Gen pointedly watching her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What? Nothing.” The answers a tad too quick for Shaw’s liking but she tries to hide it by shoving half a triangle of toast into her mouth.

“Right,” Gen replies flatly. “Does this have anything to do with Root?”

For a moment Shaw doesn’t answer in favor of watching the person in question make a beeline for her own group’s table, smiling down at Daizo, Casey, and Greenfield and chatting animatedly before her ass is even planted in the seat. Root picks up a red apple and bites into it, lips shiny with the juice, and Shaw looks away.

“No,” she lies through her teeth.

But Gen’s persistent and, unlike most of the other kids in her group, not so easily threatened by Shaw. “What’s up with you guys, anyway?”

“Nothing is ‘up’ with us, kid.” When Gen opens her mouth, Shaw rolls her eyes and says, “If you keep going, I _will_ implement a no-talking rule during meals.”

Despite both of them knowing the threat is empty, Gen falls quiet for a small moment. But Shaw counts down from ten in her head and, like clockwork, the kid's already speaking again by the time she gets to zero. “It’s just… you’re always talking to one another. And standing so close together. I just thought….”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

Gen’s face scrunches in a frown. “You didn’t even know what I was going to say.”

Shaw gives her an unamused look and pointedly resumes eating, spearing fruit with her fork in an action that’s not very uncharacteristic of her, though she does add a bit more force than usual.

“Fine. Do you hate her then?”

“No.”

“So you _do_ like—”

“ _No_ ,” Shaw beats her to it, dropping her fork with an irate sigh. “What’s up with the twenty-one questions, huh?”

“Just curious,” Gen replies with an innocent shrug. “Plus, I saw you two at the lake yesterday.”

“You know I hate it when you watch me like that. It’s creepy.”

“I’m practicing for—”

“—for your career in international espionage, I know,” Shaw finishes flatly. She’s heard this from Gen more times than she can count on one hand. “Well, practice it on somebody else.”

“I was,” Gen defends haughtily. She slinks down in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “On Root.”

Shaw sniffs, eyes Gen from her peripheral. “And what’s your spying told you so far?”

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know,” the brat smirks, and Shaw decides she doesn’t really like the knowing expression that falls upon her face.

“I wouldn’t. I don’t care.” Shaw scowls, feeling her defenses rise against her will. “Fine, just wait until you get caught lurking by Harold. Don’t expect me to come to your aid then.”

Gen’s eyes are bright with the smile she’s failing to hide, but Shaw ignores her in favor of downing the remainder of her coffee and dumping her trash in the bin.

The day’s classes go by aggravatingly slowly. She teaches another self-defense lesson at ten, archery at noon, and owns her kids at rock climbing right before dinner. But by the time the sun’s setting she’s uncommonly antsy, and she really wishes Friday would come sooner because she could really go for a shot of whiskey right about now. Or five.

Shaw sits alone on the deck to her cabin, hands propped up behind her as she stares at the sky. The lights are still on in the camper’s cabins a few feet away but she’s far enough that the conversation is at a hushed volume, barely existent, the slight breeze carrying whatever is there away. She kicks a leg back and forth where it hangs over the deck, taps a finger on the wood behind her. The stars dotting the sky don’t do much to calm her. She has half a mind to go for a run.

“Someone’s wound tight.” Shaw’s swinging leg jerks slightly at the sound of the voice and she glances up to see Root smiling down at her. Standing at her full height, she towers over Shaw where she’s slouched on the deck. Her incisors are sharp and starkly white, eyes glinting with mirth, but Shaw doesn’t think she looks like a predator. What she does think about is the slope of Root’s neck and the dip of her collarbone until she realizes she’s staring and tears her gaze away with a quiet grunt.

“Bad day, sweetie?”

“Not particularly,” she answers. Root sits down beside her without asking and Shaw tries not to notice how close their hands are, what her own fingers had been doing that morning.

It’s silent for a minute before Root says out of nowhere, “That’s the one thing I miss about Texas.” Shaw looks at her, waiting for her to clarify. “The stars. Buildings are built too tall; lights shine too bright for them in the city.”

“I don’t know shit about constellations,” Shaw says lamely in reply.

“Oh, me neither. But they’re pretty, right?” The look Shaw gives her is equal parts expectant and unamused. Root turns her head and raises her eyebrows. “What?”

“Really? No come-on about me being pretty too?”

Root smirks. “Were you fishing for one, Sameen?”

Shaw chuckles and shakes her head, turning her gaze up at the night sky. She’d moved around too much in her life to pay much attention to stars, never really took the time to appreciate them. To be honest she doesn’t really take the time now, either; she instead brings her eyes back down to the curve of Root’s jawline, the upturn of her nose as she tips her head back, closes her eyes, and breathes in the night air.

“I lived in Texas once,” Shaw finds herself saying, transfixed on a tiny mole disappearing beneath the collar of Root’s shirt. “On base. I hated it.”

“Mm. That makes two of us.”

“Is that why you left then? Because you hated it?”

Root lifts her head again, opens her eyes. She glances at Shaw briefly before shrugging. “No. I think if my mom hadn’t died, I probably would’ve stayed. She was the one last thing tying me there.”

Shaw nods. “Texas was the last base we moved to before New York. And then my dad died, and we never left.”

Much like Shaw hadn’t the day before, Root doesn’t comment on the topic of her dad, just ducks her head in brief acknowledgment. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” she says after a while.

Shaw smirks, small and almost disbelieving.

“Funnily enough, me too.”

*

“Fusco’s going to be late. I think he’s trying to make himself pretty for me.”

Shaw glances up at John where they’re both leaning against the side of the borrowed SUV (courtesy of Harold) and scoffs as he replies to Lionel’s text and slips his phone back into his pocket. “We’ll be here for hours, then.”

“No point in waiting outside,” John replies, digging into his other pocket and pulling out a pair of keys. Shaw grabs his wrist before he can unlock the door and stares. 

“No way. I’m driving.”

“I don’t think so. Harold entrusted me with this car,” he says mock-seriously, then drops the keys and uses his other hand to swipe them out of mid-air, holding them just out of her reach, “and you have road rage.”

She glares. “I do _not_.”

“Well, you have rage in general. I’m pretty sure that applies to behind the wheel, too.”

They lock eyes, Reese watching her with a look that dares her to try anything and Shaw, never one to pass up a challenge, counts how many ways she can take him down in the dirt right then and there. 

There’s an exasperated sigh that comes from neither of them and then Joss is walking by, snatching the keys out of John’s grasp and glaring at them both. “ _I’m_ driving,” she says, and then, under her breath, “Haven’t even left yet and already fighting. I swear, I can’t take y’all anywhere.”

“Shaw started it.” John’s voice is unbelievingly innocent and Shaw almost grabs the finger he points accusingly at her. He looks entirely too pleased with himself when all Shaw does is scowl at him; she can tell Carter’s in a shit mood and even she knows better than to push her luck. Clearly, John doesn’t. “Had a rough one, Joss?”

“You could say that. I don’t really wanna talk about it. All you need to know is that I’m taking back the drink limit.”

“That bad, huh?” Reese asks at the same time as Shaw says, “Sweet.”

Carter sighs and nods her head. “That bad. I have a few margaritas and a basket of chicken wings calling my name.”

“A girl after my own heart,” Shaw grins. 

“Yeah, well, find your own wings. I ain’t sharing.”

“Hello, Lionel,” John suddenly calls out, and Shaw turns to watch Fusco walking towards them. “You do something with your hair?”

“Bite me,” Lionel tells him. “At least I’m on time. Zoe insisted on wearing heels and keeps sinking into the dirt. Banana Nut Crunch is back there helping her now.”

Shaw squints and, sure enough, manages to make out two approaching figures in the oncoming darkness. As they get closer she spots the stilettos dangling from Zoe’s fingers, her feet shoved into a pair of flip-flops Shaw’s never seen her wear before. 

And then Shaw shifts her gaze over to Root. She’s wearing a leather jacket Shaw would have probably bought herself but the real kicker, Shaw mentally notes, are the tight denim jeans hugging her waist. She clears her throat and glances away before Root’s close enough to notice her staring and, to her dismay, finds John smiling pleasantly down at her.

Shaw speaks before Reese has a chance to tease her. “Should’ve known you’d dress up just to go to a shitty dive bar, Morgan.”

“You never know who you might run into,” Zoe smiles and plants a hand against the side of the car so she can change shoes. 

“First impressions are important,” Root agrees, wide-eyed. Shaw narrows her own at her suspiciously, which only makes Root crack a grin. “Sameen certainly made one on me.”

“Oh, did she now?” Carter saves Shaw the trouble of inflicting bodily harm on Reese by not-so-subtly kicking him in the shin. Fusco winces; Zoe doesn’t even bother stifling her chuckle. Root, because she’s Root, continues smiling at Shaw, waiting for her reaction.

What she does is roll her eyes. “Can we go now?”

Joss, apparently not needing to be asked twice, climbs into the driver’s seat. The rest of them pack themselves in the car and it’d be laughable, the way Root’s legs barely fit where she and Shaw are sitting in the third row, if Shaw weren’t doing her damndest not to look at them. The smell of her shampoo mixed with her leather jacket is oddly distracting and Shaw digs her fingers into the seat to keep herself grounded. She hadn’t had a repeat of her dream from the other night but she doesn’t think the memory of it will leave her anytime soon, if at all. Especially not at this rate.

She’s just glad Carter isn’t as slow a driver as Reese (seriously, he’s like a grandpa sometimes) because the normal drive into town takes thirty minutes and she gets them there in less than twenty-five, pawning the keys off on Fusco before she’s even got the car in park. At least she has the patience to wait for all of them to clamber out of the vehicle before heading inside.

If asked, Shaw would probably describe Burton’s as a piece-of-shit dive with no TV’s and a water-ringed bar that seriously needs a lacquer touch up. It also smells of aftershave, courtesy of the bartender; the stools are wobbly, and the toilet is the same type as the one from The Godfather, though there’s no gun taped to the back of the tank (Shaw had checked once, out of drunken curiosity). But Zoe likes the cabaret, Shaw likes the top-shelf hard shit, and the others are just glad for a place to kick back and relax on a much-needed Friday night. 

They’ve been coming here for at least the past two summers, so Elias doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see them when he looks up from wiping the bar. “Why, isn’t it my favorite camp counselors. Let me guess: a glass of cab, two beers, a margarita, and a club soda.” He briefly pauses, eyes settling on Root with a smile after they’ve all shoved themselves into their usual booth. “Oh, I don’t believe I’ve met you.”

“You can call me Root,” she says, not missing a beat. “And I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

Shaw snorts. “Not surprised you like the fruity crap.”

“To each their own tastes,” Elias says as he walks back behind the bar to make their drinks. Shaw rolls her eyes; she’s always found his weird, vaguely mafioso mumbo jumbo kind of irritating, but he’s the closest bar to the campgrounds for miles and she keeps her mouth shut for that reason only.

Carter orders her chicken wings when Elias comes back with the booze and Shaw downs a third of her beer in one long pull before the bottle has a chance to hit the table. Root’s watching her with a glint in her eye when she’s done, twirling the annoying, skinny black straw in her sissy drink with her pointer finger. 

“What?” 

Shaw doesn’t need to glance around to know the others aren’t paying attention to them but the urge to do it nags at her all the same. Instead she watches as Root places her elbow on the table and rest her chin in her hand, eyes dropping down to the dark rim of Shaw’s beer bottle. “Just a little jealous, I suppose.”

“Hm,” Shaw grunts. “Am I going to find out in a few drinks that you’re a handsy drunk?”

“A few indeed.” Root leans forward then, her voice lowering to a conspiritorial whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a bit of a lightweight.”

“My lips are sealed,” Shaw says flatly. 

Root smirks and her eyes fall to Shaw’s mouth. “Let’s hope not,” she says, then bites her own lower lip in such a way that Shaw has to distract herself by swallowing down another good portion of her beer. Root’s resulting expression is smug and aggravating and Shaw desperately wishes to wipe it off her face.

“So, Root,” Zoe suddenly pipes up. “Harold says you just moved to New York. Are you living in the city?”

She nods. “Dear old Harry set me up in an apartment in Midtown, in exchange for my computer expertise here.”

“Hold on a sec. Glasses has got you put up in a fancy schmancy place—in _Manhattan_ —just as a thank you for teaching computer classes to a bunch of preteens?” Lionel scoffs in disbelief. “I should ask for a damn raise.”

Root shrugs like the whole notion is no big deal. “Seemed like a better offer than the one he initially made me.”

Against her better judgment, Shaw asks, “Which was?”

“A secret, mostly, but I _can_ say that it may or may not have included jail time.”

“You’re kind of scary, you know that?” Fusco watches Root warily, leaning to the side infinitesimally like she’s going to pounce any second. 

“What, Lionel, you’ve never broken a few laws?” John asks.

“I don’t give off loony tune vibes,” he says in defense.

Shaw smirks from behind her beer bottle. “That wasn’t a no.”

“And what about you, huh? Wouldn’t be surprised if you were wanted in some states. Or countries,” Fusco retorts.

“You get really chatty when you’re trying to avoid the subject, Lionel,” Root teases, and the rest of them all hide their chuckles in various degrees of success.

“Ah, screw you guys. Drive yourselves home, see if I care.”

Shaw spends the next half an hour putting away two beers before she decides it’s time to move on to the tougher stuff, eyeing a nice bottle of tequila on the shelf and figuring that Finch pays her well enough to get drunk off her ass for at least tonight. However, she takes a brief break to stuff her face with a burger and by the time she sets out to regroup with the others, Carter’s slurping up the remnants of her margarita and talking to John privately in the booth, his hand wrapped around what Shaw knows is already his third beer of the night. Zoe’s got her eye on a guy who decidedly looks just out of place as she does in his Wall Street suit and Fusco’s at the other end of the place, trying his luck at darts. Shaw briefly entertains the idea of absolutely handing his ass to him at the game before she spots Root tucked in at the end of the bar, nursing a different drink with the same stupid black straw. Shaw doesn’t know why she chooses to walk over to _her_ of all people, but next thing she knows she’s sliding on to the stool next to Root and following her line of sight to the pictures lining the wall.

“Are you actually smiling in that one?”

“Ha-ha,” Shaw deadpans. Surprisingly, she remembers that night in the photo. Fusco had still been drinking then and to this day has the tourtist-y “I Heart New York” tattoo on his bicep to prove it, the one that matches the shirt Shaw had given to him when he woke up the next morning (she's always been a sucker for a good dare). She nods her head at the half-empty drink sitting in front of Root, almost afraid to ask. “What do you got there?” 

“Long Island Iced Tea. Want a taste?”

Shaw scrunches her nose. “I think I’d rather lick the bar, thanks.”

“Oh, Sameen, there are other things you could be licking,” she counters, making Shaw roll her eyes so hard she thinks they’re going to fall out of her head. It’s a good image to visualize to keep herself distracted from everything else that flashes through her mind, anyway. “By the way, I saw you eyeing that tequila over there.”

The slightly husky tone in Root’s voice pulls at Shaw’s gut in a way she’s not sure she completely hates. “If you’re suggesting what I think you are...”

“I mean, if _you’re_ thinking it—”

“No. No way.”

“C’mon, Sameen, live a little,” Root says, and when Shaw resolutely clenches her jaw and fixes her gaze forward, she leans to the side and presses their arms together, craning her neck to try and look Shaw in the eye. “Body shots, you and me.”

“What, are you just going to lift your shirt up and drape yourself over the bar? It’s not exactly the sexiest, or cleanest, of places, you know.” 

“People do it all the time.”

“Yeah, at college frat parties.”

Root smirks, straightens, and shrugs off her jacket. Shaw doesn’t let herself appreciate the way her sleeveless blouse shows off her biceps, leaner than Shaw's own but toned nonetheless. “Who said anything about the bar, anyway? Easy enough access and plenty of skin here.”

Shaw doesn’t deign that comment with a reply. But then—

“Sameen. I _dare_ you.” 

Well. Like she said, Shaw’s always been a sucker for a good dare.

“Fine,” she grits out after only a minute of debate, ignoring the way Root lights up with excitement before the word is even completely out of her mouth. She beckons for Elias with a two-finger gesture. “Tequila. Two shots. Leave the bottle.”

Like he already knows what they’re up to, Elias also places a dish of salt and a bowl of limes on the bar in front of them before disappearing to the opposite end of the bar with a smirk. 

“We’re wagering on this,” Shaw says. “A hundred bucks.”

Root giggles, honest to god _giggles_ , and Shaw wonders if she’s had more drinks than Shaw’s aware of or if she really is just a lightweight. She pours two shots out regardless.

“Okay, what’s the game?” Root asks.

Honestly, she hadn’t thought that far ahead and only implemented it as a reason to keep this from spilling over into the _something else_ that Shaw sort of desperately wants to avoid. A bet makes it less serious than it feels, which is stupid considering there’s really nothing serious at all about licking, salting, drinking, and then biting. 

(Except that there is. There really, really is.)

Shaw just repeats it a bit more forcefully—“ _a hundred bucks_ ”—with no explanation before snatching Root’s hand up from where it’s resting on the edge of the bar and, without any preamble, sucks the skin between her thumb and forefinger into her mouth.

Root tastes of condensation, leather, and a little bit of sweat. So nothing particularly good, really, except that it is and Shaw quickly realizes this is probably a mistake, albeit a fun one. And it’s kind of a funny thing, the way Root’s breath hitches as soon as Shaw swipes her tongue; she scrapes her teeth lightly against Root’s hand as she pulls away, smiling a tad smugly even though her gaze refuses to meet Root’s own as she picks up a pinch of salt and sprinkles it on the shiny stripe of moisture on her skin. Then she ducks her head back down to lick again, knocks back her tequila shot in one quick motion, and bites down on one of the lime wedges Elias had oh-so-helpfully brought them. She's wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist by the time she finally looks up and finds Root staring at her, eyes so dark she thinks she could probably see her own reflection in them if she tried hard enough.

The haughty feeling expands in Shaw's chest at the sight and she smirks, extending her arm out. "Your turn."

Root snaps out of it with a blink, the pleased expression that crosses her face and the ease with which she wraps two fingers around Shaw's wrist doing nothing against the fact that Shaw  _knows_ she's finally caught her off guard. If this is how Root feels every time she whispers some vaguely dirty come-on in her ear, then Shaw definitely needs to step her game up. She could get used to winning.

Flipping Shaw's hand over, Root traces a finger along the vein in her wrist, licks her lips, then sucks the skin over her pulse point so hard Shaw thinks it'll probably bruise. She hisses, just a little, and the tiny flare of pain is gone almost as quickly as it came, but it leaves her with a pleasant burning feeling that has nothing to do with the pink circle Root's currently sprinkling salt over. Tenderly this time, Root licks again, then takes her shot (with a slight wince, Shaw notes in amusement), and pinches a lime wedge between her teeth, sharp and deadly. After, when Root grins, Shaw's own smile stretches with it.

Their eyes lock and bet or no, this was always bound to become a competition. One that Root's going to lose.

Shaw curls a foot around one of the legs of Root's stool and yanks her closer in one fell swoop, taking her by surprise and making her have to catch herself with a hand gripping the edge of the bar. She's good at quickly recomposing herself, Shaw will give her that, because she doesn't give Root much time to do so before she leans down and licks a line from the swell of her shoulder to the start of her collarbone, tongue darting away just before it reaches the fabric of Root's shirt.

Salt, lick, drink, bite.

Root counters by licking a broad stripe up Shaw's palm that ends at the tip of her middle finger, sucking for all of a second. She doesn't even salt that time, just takes a drink and licks again, knowing she's put one up on Shaw with just this move alone. Shaw would be irritated if she wasn't, frankly, absolutely turned on, but that doesn't mean she can't fake it—Root bats her eyes innocently when Shaw does just that, scowling as she reaches forward and wraps a hand around Root's chin, roughly craning her head to the side and brushing her hair out the way before fastening her lips to the hinge of Root's jaw. If she bites a little (okay, a  _lot_ , and hard), then that's just fair game.

Shaw doesn't bother with the lime that time.

She doesn't know how much time passes, too engrossed in this, too fixated on winning. Root takes advantage of the low cut of Shaw's tank top and swipes between the dip of her collarbones; Shaw licks and nips the inside of her elbow; Root slides her tongue between Shaw's middle and pointer finger (that one makes her roll her eyes), and Shaw, when she takes Root's thumb into her mouth, wishes they were somewhere a bit more private because at this point she's just drunk and horny and sort of wants to take a shot off the sharp jut of Root's hipbones, or maybe just shove her head between her thighs.

By the time they've made it halfway through the tequila bottle, Shaw meets Root's eyes and—she seems to be of the same notion, if her completely blown pupils and parted lips are anything to go by. Root's smile stretches across her lips lazily but broadly.

"Dare you to take me into the bathroom," she says, because she  _knows_ , she knows conceding defeat will be the sure way to winning, and Shaw's too drunk to try and think about who's the actual victor here, so instead of doing that she slides off her stool and stalks towards the ladies' room, dragging a giggling Root by the hand behind her.

"Shut up," Shaw says once they're inside, but she's grinning a bit too, and she kind of likes the way Root tries to stifle her laughs into the back of her hand. 

It doesn't work and Root just giggles harder, even as Shaw crowds her against the tiled wall and noses underneath her chin. Root smells like salt and tequila and a little bit of leftover lime juice from Shaw's lips. It's _hot._  "Do I owe you a hundred bucks?" Root asks, the words torn between a gasp and a laugh.

Shaw doesn't know. She doesn't care. She also doesn't realize she says both of these things out loud.

"I don't like to be in anyone's debt," Root hums, brows furrowing as Shaw scrapes her teeth along her jawbone. 

"Pay me back later," Shaw grunts. She slides a hand beneath Root's shirt and splays her fingers across the skin on her side.

"Sameen"—and it's a whine, it's definitely a whine and Shaw stubbornly refuses to forget how it sounds, ringing in her hears, reverberating against her lips where they're pressed to Root's throat—"just  _kiss me_ already."

Shaw moves to do exactly that, but when she brings her gaze up to Root's face and sees how utterly wrecked she already looks, she gets sort of distracted. Root's lower lip has been bitten to a pretty shade of red, her lashes are thick and dusting her cheeks because her stupidly and sexily long legs have her looking down at Shaw, who wants nothing more than to crash their lips together and render Root's (stupidly, sexily) long legs useless because she's fucked the strength out of them. For once, Shaw wants Root to be able to say nothing more than Shaw's name, a moan, and maybe a few expletives in between.

"Then do it," Root challenges, pressing their hips together. 

Shaw growls, fingers flicking open the button to Root's jeans as she cranes her head and parts her lips and—

And then the door flings open.

Unthinkingly, Shaw puts a great amount of distance between her and Root before Carter and Zoe even manage to stumble into the bathroom, an arm wrapped around each other's shoulders as they laugh loudly, drunkenly, and at seemingly nothing in particular. Shaw briefly glances to Root just to find her quickly buttoning up her pants before her line of sight is obstructed by her other two friends, and when they sway and Shaw looks over at the wall again, Root's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only root and shaw would give each other hickeys before _actually_ kissing


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to leave y'all (and root) high and dry with that last one lmao
> 
> this chapter kind of kicked my ass! but i like how it turned out :)

"Next time, please remind me that hot wings and margaritas do  _not_ go well together."

On Saturdays the counselors are allowed to enjoy breakfast with one another instead of their designated campers, so Shaw starts her morning off by smugly glancing around at her friends, all of whom look like steamrolled shit. She's been enjoying an immunity to hangovers since as long as she's known them and nothing stops her from taking advantage of that power now as she bites into a strip of bacon and smiles at John when he shoots her a halfhearted, pale-faced glare.

"Please don't talk about food," Zoe groans. "And Shaw—please stop  _eating_ food."

"Why, not hungry?" Shaw teases. 

Zoe leans her head back and closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose. "Unless you're offering me a handful of ibuprofen, then no."

As if on cue, Lionel arrives with a Costco-sized bottle of Advil tucked underneath his arm. The sound that it makes when he drops it on to the table is hardly loud but it causes Zoe, John, and Joss to moan all the same. 

"Suckers," Shaw snickers around a mouthful of eggs.

Lionel's grin disappears as he sits down and glances around the table. "Hey, where's Cuckoo Clocks? Thought for sure she'd be joining the pity party this morning."

Shaw pauses chewing for a millisecond. After Zoe and Carter interrupted them in the bathroom last night, Root had practically vanished into thin air. Shaw had come out of the bathroom searching for her only to find a drunk-off-his-ass Reese giving a monotone, if not enthusiastic, rendition of the national anthem to Lionel, who was trying to drag the bigger man outside and struggling despite (or maybe because of) his sobriety. When Joss and Zoe had come stumbling out the bathroom still giggling, Shaw followed the group outside after quickly deducing that she'd probably find Root out there too. 

Sure enough, Root had been pressed up against the side of their car looking decidedly... pale. Shaw probably would've enjoyed the uncharacteristic quiet if she hadn't still been burning with Root's touch, so she spent the car ride home staring out the window in silence, partly because there were many things she wanted to say (and do) but couldn't because of their present company, and partly because Shaw, in actually, didn't really know what to say at all. 

However, right now she tells Fusco, "Don't know. Haven't seen her since we got back last night."

"Maybe one of us should check if she's okay," Lionel replies, then seems to remember that he's sort of wary of Root because belatedly, he adds, "Uh, not me though."

Shaw rolls her eyes. "Don't be a baby, Lionel."

"Would you rather play the role of caretaker for these three?"

She stares at him flatly for a moment before raking the rest of her food into her mouth. He sort of has a point. "Fine," she mutters begrudgingly. "I'll do it. But only because you'll be joining their whining if I don't."

Getting up from the table and stepping out of the cafeteria, Shaw fends off the urge to just bail altogether in favor of spending the rest of breakfast going for a walk. She's always been a rational person and she knows there's a discussion to be had between her and Root now that they've crossed this line. It's just... words are for losers. She'd simply rather avoid them and jump straight to the action—it's just easier for her that way, always has been. It's also more fun. Things had been annoyingly interrupted and a bit muddled later, sure, but based on their near-hookup last night, Shaw can tell Root's probably programmed the same way. Shaw's made the mistake of assuming the same of another person and would prefer avoiding a repeat of that mess, however; thus, the need for a talk. 

The inside of Root's cabin is dark when Shaw gets there, the blinds pulled shut. Shaw knocks anyway; knocks again, harder this time, when there's no answer. And  _again_ a few moments after that. "Root, it's me. Open up or else I'm breaking in."

"I'd prefer you didn't do that," Root's voice sounds behind her; Shaw's gotten good at not letting Root startle her anymore. "Though I have to admit, I'd appreciate the show."

Shaw turns around with an eye roll, though it's halted when she sees the taller woman's damp hair and bag of toiletries dangling from her arm. "Late morning?"

"And a late evening," Root replies with a smirk, though it's gone almost as quick as it came before she says, "Sorry about the quick exit last night."

"No big deal." Shaw shrugs, because really, it isn't.

But then Root says, "It's probably best it didn't happen, anyway," and Shaw is left reevaluating everything she'd been sure of moments before. While rejection isn't something she often receives, it  _has_ happened to her before and Shaw'd accepted it with a shrug and moved on. But she can't help the rush of disappointment that surges through her, even if it's quickly followed by frustration. She  _knows_ she hadn't been reading any of Root's signs wrong (and honestly, calling them 'signs' is the world's biggest understatement), so what's the big deal?

Before Shaw can figure that out, Root's speaking again. "I mean, we were both kind of drunk. Well, really drunk. And if I'm going to be lacking my proper judgment, I'd rather it be because you screwed the actual coherency out of me."

Realization dawning upon her Shaw opens her mouth to reply, but quickly closes it when the words get lost on the tip of her tongue. 

"Oh. Too forward?" Root asks with a teasing grin.

Shaking her head in annoyance, Shaw snatches Root's wrist before turning around and shoving open the cabin door (and it's unlocked; really, does Root not care about security?). It's almost an echo of last night in that Shaw is dragging Root behind her, but Root's laugh is distinctly less giddily drunk and more delightfully intrigued as Shaw bodily swings her around so that Root is now standing in front of her.

"Seems like I got a show after all," Root says a tad breathlessly.

"You're a pain in my  _ass_ ," Shaw tells her, voice without malice. "I liked you better last night."

"You mean when I was utterly weak beneath your touch?"

"No, when you were in the car and not talking."

"To be fair, I was trying not to throw up. Another reason why I left. I did tell you I was a lightweight." She closes half of the gap between them with one step, leaning down a little as she adds, "Besides, you're lying. I now know with acute positivity that you  _like_ me, Sameen."

Shaw scoffs, glancing away. 

"Just a little?"

"Please," she says flatly.

"Well, enough to try and fuck me against the wall in a dive bar bathroom, that is—"

Shaw effectively shuts her up by crashing their mouths together, biting hard on Root's lower lip and slipping her tongue inside when Root gasps. Root's hands clutch at her shoulders before sliding up Shaw's neck to frame her face, though Shaw doesn't let her touch her for long before snatching her wrists with each hand and pinning them to the wall above Root's head with one. She drops her other hand to Root's waist, holding her down to keep her from bucking against Shaw's thigh when Shaw pushes it between Root's legs. 

She kisses Root until she absolutely has to come up for air, a smug feeling washing over her as a fine trail of spit connects their mouths, one that Root breaks when she smooths her tongue over the bite mark Shaw had left on her lower lip and slowly opens her eyes. "Told you, you like me," she says in a low, rough voice that has Shaw leaning down for more.

"You talk way too fucking much," Shaw says with an eye roll before a small smirk flits across her face. "But I guess you're right. Enough to try and fuck you against  _this_ wall, at least."

"As amazing as that sounds," Root responds, "breakfast is about to end."

Shaw lets her head fall to Root's shoulder with a groan, lifting it only when the alarm clock next to Root's bed shrills throughout the small room a few moments later. "Seriously?" she asks, glaring down at the alarm and smacking the snooze button irately.

"I planned on sleeping in as much as I possibly could this morning, but," Root explains, pausing to pointedly stare at Shaw's mouth, "I was feeling kind of... restless. Woke up with an itch to scratch, if you know what I mean." As if to reiterate her point, she squirms her hips and skims the fingers of her dominate hand along Shaw's bottom lip. "The itch kind of started like this, actually."

Smiling, Shaw asks, "And the scratch?"

"Thoroughly taken care of."

"Oh, you were thorough, were you?" Shaw leans back in and laves her tongue over a bruise on Root's neck she belatedly realizes is from last night, relishing in the gasp Root lets out when Shaw pushes lightly against it. Despite what she said about breakfast ending, Root tries to grind herself down on Shaw's thigh.

"Had to try and emulate the real thing."

"You don't even know what the 'real thing' feels like yet."

Root grins. "I took an educated guess."

Disentangling herself from Root's limbs, Shaw steps back and observes her handiwork. The damp strands of Root's hair is mussed and catching a little in the grooves of the cabin wall, her chest is heaving just a tad, and her mouth is shiny; a little swollen. If Shaw didn't think words were for losers, she'd probably describe Root right now as a living, breathing work of art.

Root's looking at her with a mischievous sparkle in her eye and Shaw cuts her off before she has a chance to spout out anything ridiculous. "If you say anything about taking a picture and how it'll last longer, I'll strangle you."

"Promise?" Root's smile widens as she pushes off the wall and Shaw exhales an exasperated sigh. "This is twice you've left me hanging, you know."

"Third time's a charm," Shaw deadpans, making to leave once she hears the telltale sounds of kids walking about outside. She needs to regroup with her own campers before Finch either scolds or threatens to fire her. Or, most likely, both. She's halfway to the door when a thought suddenly occurs to her, and she glances at Root over her shoulder with a grin. "Actually, I might have an idea that'll help ease you of some of your... adrenaline. If you're game."

Ten minutes later, Shaw's struggling to contain her amusement at the look on Root's face as they stand under the morning sun. It can only be described as genuine disappointment masked by fake enthusiasm as Root and Shaw's campers line up behind their respective counselors.

"When you said 'game', I didn't think you meant literally."

"What's the matter? 'Fraid you'll lose?"

"Don't be unsportsmanlike, Sameen. You'll set a bad example."

"Then don't be a  _wimp_ , Root. I'll say it again: me and my kids vs. you and yours in a simple game of dodge ball."

Root presses her lips together and tilts her head slightly as she thinks it over.  _Pretends_ to think it over, because Shaw knows Root's just putting on a show. "Alright, but if I win, I don't have to pay you the hundred dollars you... hm,  _cheated_ me out of last night." And with that, she turns around and shuffles her campers off to the side to prepare a game plan. 

"Why does she owe you a hundred bucks? What happened last night?" Gen asks, full to the brim with nosiness as ever, as Shaw narrows her eyes at the back of Root's head. Shaw momentarily ignores her in favor of lining up the dodge balls in the middle of the court, but Gen's hot on her heels. 

"We had a bet," she answers a few beats later, never mind the fact that Shaw, despite being the one who proposed the bet, still doesn't know what the details of said bet entailed and who actually won it. She takes the credit anyway. 

"What were you playing? Was it poker?" Gen's eagerness easily dissipates as the expression on her face is replaced by a frown. "Hey, no fair. You said next time you played poker you'd teach me."

"Hold on, I didn't say we were playing poker. And I never told you I'd teach you. Don't put words in my mouth."

"Yeah, you did. The last time you were playing with Reese I asked if I could too and you said"—Gen, without missing a beat, lowers her voice and schools her features into a half-aloof, half-annoyed scowl—"'Sure. Whatever. Beat it, kid, I'm up two-hundred bucks.'"

Shaw stares at her flatly for all of a second. "Was that supposed to sound like me? That was crap."

Gen shrugs. "John liked it when I did it for him the other day," she says, but before Shaw has a chance to ask just what the hell the two of them were talking about her for and why, she continues, "So if you weren't playing poker last night, what were you doing?"

Unable and unwilling to answer that particular question, Shaw tactfully avoids doing so. "Technically, I never agreed to teach you poker. And I can't. If Harold finds out I'm letting a ten year-old gamble he'll probably faint."

"Who said anything about gambling? You don't need money to play poker."

"You do if you want to have fun, otherwise it's boring. Unless—" Shaw cuts herself off, figuring that mentioning strip poker is decidedly inappropriate. And not that Gen is naive, because she's not, but on the off chance that she  _doesn't_ know what strip poker is Shaw's not sure she'll be able to fend off her unrelenting curiosity. She works her jaw and glances over the kid's unruly blonde head at Root and her campers before dropping her eyes back down to look at Gen. 

"Listen: kick Root's team's ass at this game and I'll teach you how to swindle John out of every penny he has. Deal?"

Gen's lips quirk up in a grin. "Pinky promise?"

Rolling her eyes at Gen's outstretched finger, Shaw mumbles, "If you seriously think I'm going to do that, then you can just forget—"

"Okay, okay! Deal. Those nerds will never know what hit them," Gen replies before bounding off toward the rest of her team.

Shaw smirks. Now  _that_ definitely sounded like her.

*

Later, on her way back to her cabin after dinner, Shaw spots the lights on in Root's classroom and makes a last-minute decision to drop inside. She allows herself a small moment of amusement at the thought that she's now making the conscious choice to go out of her way to see the woman who completely annoyed her at the start of camp a few weeks ago, leaning against the frame of the open door and watching as Root sits at her desk, bent over a laptop. "Hey, loser."

Shaw doesn't know if Root was already aware she was there or if she simply doesn't scare easily, but Shaw honestly wouldn't be surprised if it's both. Root glances up from the computer screen and smiles broadly despite the reminder that Shaw's dodge ball team had, effectively and thoroughly, thrashed Root's own. 

"Come to kiss my wounded pride?"

"Amongst other things, if you're nice," Shaw jokes, pushing away from the door frame and crossing the brief distance to Root's desk. She sits down on the edge and glances around. "Never been in your nerd hub before. It's different than Harold's." When Root raises an eyebrow, she elaborates, "Less Dean of Students and more... Silicon Valley hipster. Though I'm glad you're sitting on a normal chair and not a bean bag or exercise ball. Then I'd have to take back what I said about you being hot."

"Ouch, remind me to cancel my Amazon order then," Root teases. 

Shaw smiles and shakes her head as Root returns to her laptop. "What're you working on?"

"Last minute touch-ups on a little side project I assigned to Jason, Daniel, and Daizo a few days ago." She tips her head to the side. "Well. It's more like a challenge, really."

"And that challenge is...?" Shaw prompts.

"Oh, nothing complicated. I made a low-level government encryption complete with a few of my more complicated firewalls and the boys are supposed to crack it without tripping any alarms. You know, easy stuff. At least, I was going up against much tougher code back when I was hacking the  _actual_ government."

"Back up a sec," Shaw says, looking at Root in utter bemusement. "What're we talking about here? Like, the mayor's office-level government or FBI? CIA?" At Root's smirk, both of Shaw's eyebrows shoot up. " _The Pentagon_?"

Root lifts a single shoulder in a shrug. "All of the above and then some. A girl likes to have fun every now and then."

Shaw chuckles because really, knowing Root, there's nothing confusing or surprising about this new piece of information at all. Mostly, she's impressed. And a bit turned on, which does happen to come as a tiny shock.

Huh. Who knew nerdy shit could get Shaw going.

"So how'd you move on from hacking the U.S. government to teaching computer code at a summer sleep away camp?"

Seemingly done with her project, Root closes her laptop and leans back in her chair, looking up at Shaw slyly (it's a nice change in role reversal, Shaw notes). "You know how I said this was the better of two offers Harry made me?"

"I remember you saying something about jail, yes," Shaw replies.

"The government hacking was only recreational stuff. Something to do when I was feeling nosy or bored. Or both," Root says. "But I did put my skills to financial use. Easy targets; you know, Wall Street bigwigs, rich idiots who pay a pretty penny for a shiny digital security system that really only takes five minutes to hack into. Except one of those rich idiots ended up being wealthier than I thought and decidedly less idiotic."

"Finch."

Root nods. "His firewall was complicated. And his code was fighting back. It was beyond anything I'd ever encountered.  _Fascinating_ ," she says, and Shaw likes the way the excitement is unbridled in her voice, written all over her face. She nearly lights up with it. Despite not knowing half the shit Root's spouting, Shaw's sort of content to just let her ramble. "It took what felt like hours before I'd finally gotten through, and I think I only did because Harry was intrigued by me. Until I was draining his bank account, that is."

Shaw snorts. "You stole his money and he decided to give you a job?"

"He stopped me before I could take the desired amount. Tried to trace my IP address too but I knew better than to make finding me easy for him. I'd managed to locate  _him_ , though. Then it was bye-bye Bishop and hello New York. Needless to say, he was surprised when I showed up on his doorstep." Shaw laughs again; she can just imagine the dumbfounded look on his face. "He gave me a job, but only after I asked. And after I promised to give back all the money I stole from him and the others. Though we did come to the mutual agreement that I'd take the money of my more less reputable victims and put it towards a good cause."

"And what cause was that?"

"Numerous charities," Root explains. She looks down at her hands for a moment. "And a friend's family... back home."

Shaw's spent enough time around sore subjects to know when to avoid them, but she files the information away nonetheless before guiding the conversation back. "You wanted a chance to learn from someone who finally matched your skill. Who could teach you a few things, maybe."

Root nods, brought out of her brief reverie as if she was never even in it in the first place. "To be fair, when I asked I didn't think he was going to put me in charge of a group of minors. I mean, I'm a former cyber criminal. With the amount of money he has I figured he'd be the head of some security software firm, if not government himself."

"Oh, he probably is. The bastard's as secretive and sneaky as they come. This camp is like his personal program for lost causes." Root looks at her curiously and she shrugs. "I used to get into trouble. A lot. Some temperament and patience issues. I'm still not the biggest fan of kids in general but a few of them are cool, I guess. Gen. I'd say she kind of reminded me of myself but I don't think I've asked as many questions as she does in my entire lifetime. But meeting the others... I guess they've sort of become like family. And they all have their reasons for being here too. John's had some problems, but you'll have to get him to warm up to you before he spills those. Same with Zoe. Joss had PTSD, the camp helped her move on from it. And Lionel ran into some trouble in the city. John met him one day and then the next summer he was here. He doesn't even drink anymore."

"You helped each other," Root surmises in a soft voice.

Again Shaw shrugs, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious. "I suppose. I mean, I give Harold a lot of shit and he makes empty threats to fire me every now and then, doesn't agree with my methodology sometimes, but he brought us all together. Made it possible. And I guess we're helping the kids too. A lot of them come from pretty shitty backgrounds. Harold's modest, but he puts up for some of their educations."

"Or housing, evidently," Root says. "I've got the apartment in Midtown to prove that one."

Shaw scoffs. "So does Reese, the bastard."

"Mom's not financially supporting you too?" Root jokes.

"He gives me a paycheck for this job, that's it. I already got an apartment and I don't want him paying my way through med school. That's on me."

Root visibly straightens with newfound interest. "Sameen," she starts. "You mean to tell me that you're a doctor?"

Shaw rolls her eyes as Root stands and leans against the desk in front of her. "Not yet," she corrects, but Root ignores her in favor of doing what she always does. Which is tease. 

"I can see you in the coat now," Root says, closing her eyes theatrically. "The white looks good on you. And the scrubs are admittedly sexy."

"Alright, I'm leaving," Shaw says in exasperation, though it's belied by the amused smirk tipping at the corner of her lips. She slides off the desk and begins to walk away, shaking her head as Root, undeterred as ever, continues.

"You're wearing latex gloves. Is it weird that those are kind of doing it for me? Okay, I'm picturing your examination room now and, ooh, the bed looks comfy.  _Sturdy._ "

Shaw shakes her head and pointedly says, " _Bye_ , Root."

"Goodnight, Doc," Root calls after her, and Shaw can hear the smile in her voice even as she walks out the door. 

*

The reoccurring theme of Root and Shaw being interrupted before any sex can happen persists throughout the next week and a half. Root calls it unfortunate. Shaw calls it a huge fucking inconvenience. 

It's already hard enough to find free time between classes, meals, and tag along cockblock campers. Also known as Gen, whom Shaw had promptly forgotten she had promised to teach how to play poker up until the very moment the kid had come knocking on Shaw's cabin door after dinner a few nights ago. Shaw'd had her fingers halfway to unhooking Root's bra and had let out a very aggravated groan in the crook of Root's neck when Gen began shouting the reminder through the solid wood. Root had laughed, pulled her shirt back on, and fixed her hair while Shaw practically threw the door off it's hinges and let Gen in. The kid was none the wiser to what had been going on just moments before, but Shaw's irritation was only added to when Gen proved to be a quick study and Shaw was left fifty dollars poorer by the time she slunk off to bed.

A few days after that, Root had jumped Shaw in the supply shed by the lake, pushing her up against a crate of life vests and teasing up and across Shaw's sides, stomach, and thighs with her stupidly long, dexterous fingers. Shaw had been two seconds away from putting together a makeshift bed out of said vests to properly fuck Root on when Reese had wandered in to change for his shift on life guard duty. To avoid the headache of never being able to live John's teasing down if he found out she and Root were ready to have sex amidst a throng of paper boxes and stock shelving, Shaw had disentangled their bodies lightning quick and spent the next five minutes intensely pretending to categorize pool noodles. Root, who'd been hiding, spent it with a hand shoved over her mouth to stifle her laughing.

And those were just two of the many instances where Shaw was unceremoniously prevented from getting some. The window of opportunity for third time's charm to kick in has long since passed and now their eighth time has gone up in flames as well in the form of Finch dropping by Root's cabin to drop off some dumb computer shit that Shaw's pretty sure could have waited until later, when she wasn't already well on her way to shoving a hand between Root's legs.

"He's going to flip out about us if he ever finds out," Shaw says to the ceiling as Root walks back to where she's lying on the bed after saying goodbye to Harold. She'd wisely kept the door half-open to keep him from peering inside, so Shaw knows he's at least still unaware of whatever she and Root have going on for the meantime. 

"Do you care?"

The bed dips slightly as Root presses a knee into the mattress and leans back against the pillows, her toes wiggling against the top of Shaw's head. Shaw scrunches her nose and bats her foot away. There's no point in trying to pick off where they left off; Root has a meeting with her nerd herd to get to in ten minutes and Shaw kind of wants to raid the kitchen in search of some grub. "Hell no," she snorts. 

"I didn't know Harry had a rule against fraternization."

"He doesn't. Just a rule about having sex in the workplace. _Trying_ to have sex, anyway."

"Trying and failing," Root hums. She leans over and kisses Shaw's forehead. "Don't worry, sweetie. You'll get laid soon."

Shaw growls. "You said that four failed attempts ago."

"I'm an optimist," Root says lightly. "Besides, Friday is just around the corner and then we'll have some time to ourselves. Unless the little gang has made plans already."

As Root leaves the bed again to get ready, Shaw shakes her head. "Zoe's meeting up with that suit from the bar last Friday and John and Joss both said they had things to do. Lionel's... well, he's Lionel, so he's probably free but I'd rather not have him as a third wheel."

"Sameen," Root says after a brief pause.

"What?"

"Would it kill you to ask a girl out?"

Shaw makes a face. "We're not  _dating_ ," she starts indignantly. "I don't date."

"Technically, we aren't really fucking either," Root teases. "C'mon, we can go into town. Grab a bite, maybe rent a sleazy hotel room for a few hours..."

Shaw scoffs. "Gross."

"I'll make sure to find one with the best Yelp review." Shaw senses Root walk back over to her and then she's suddenly in her vision, hands pressed to the bed on either side of her head. Root's hair falls around their faces like a long, silky curtain. "What do you say, Sam? Go on a date with me."

"...Fine," Shaw grumbles after a halfhearted moment of hesitation. "But I get to pick where we're eating."

"Wouldn't dream of getting in between you and food. Between you and the sheets, on the other hand..." Shaw groans and drags a palm over her face, heedless of Root's satisfied grin as she pushes herself up and away. "You know, one of these days I'm going to start rubbing off on you."

"Literally, I hope."

"See? I already am."

"No, I'm just horny." She lifts her head and smiles deviously as she observes Root gathering her things before she leaves. Spreading her legs, she says, "Actually, I think I'll take care of that before I go."

Root's shoulders stiffen and she nearly drops the shoe she's picking up as soon as the words are out of Shaw's mouth. When she slowly looks up at her, Shaw's feeling positively smug. "Now Sameen..." She hums lowly, almost warningly, as Shaw wiggles her shoulders under the guise of getting more comfortable and leisurely drags a hand towards the button of her shorts. "You know that's not fair."

Shaw reaches up and snatches one of Root's pillows so that she can tuck it under her head. It allows her to get a better look at Root, who is frozen where she stands a few feet away, eyes fixed on Shaw's wandering hand as she eases down the zipper and cups herself through her underwear. Root lets out a low whine. Shaw tips her lips in a another smirk. "You should probably leave. Don't want to be late."

Root maintains eye contact long enough for Shaw to drag her index finger through her folds, collecting the lingering wetness leftover from her and Root's earlier make-out session. The edge of her nail catches against her clit when she brings her hand back up and she gnaws on her lower lip, thigh flexing a little at the sudden friction. 

Letting out a groan, Root yanks on her shoes. "Tease."

"Don't worry, Root. You'll get laid soon," Shaw echoes the other woman's own words from earlier.

"Evidently, I _have_  been a bad influence on you," Root tells her, hand curled around the cabin's door knob. "But two can play at this game, sweetie."

With that, Root walks out and Shaw doesn't spare the moment to worry about her parting words like she probably should, too intent on bringing herself to a quick, if not satiating, orgasm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a belated note to find me on tumblr. you can find me @anadermas!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these two gays have no idea what they're doing, just that they're doing it together. also, this one gets explicitly smutty fellas

Shaw's stomach grumbles lowly and she impatiently checks the clock displayed on her phone's screen for what feels like the thousandth time since she'd first arrived at Camp Thornhill's gates. 6:14 p.m. Root's that many minutes late. Shaw's not above leaving her behind and taking up their restaurant reservation for herself—at this point, the prime cut sixteen ounce she's had her sights on since they'd put their plans together at the start of the week is sounding much better than the sex she's almost guaranteed to receive at the end of dinner. That is, the sex she's guaranteed to receive if Root bothers to show up in the next five minutes before Shaw leaves without her.

As if reading her mind, Shaw's phone beeps beneath the death grip she currently has on it. 

_ROOT: turn that frown upside down, sweetie_

> _Where the hell are you?_

Shaw pauses and glances behind her, half expecting Root to be staring down at her with a shit eating grin. When she sees that she's still alone, she types out:

> _Wait, how can you even see me?_

_ROOT: who says i don't have an all seeing AI watching you at all times?_

Shaw scowls at the numerous kissy face emojis Root ends the text with.

_ROOT: i'm running late. i figured it wouldn't be a stretch to assume you're looking adorably pissed_

_ROOT: give me 2 min._

The emoji of the two girls holding hands appears on Shaw's screen and she rolls her eyes, writes back a curt  _fine_ , and closes her phone after sending the only emoji that she doesn't find stupid: the middle finger one. Exactly two minutes later, Root comes walking up the pathway behind Shaw in an ensemble that warrants no reasonable explanation as to why Root would have even brought it to a summer camp in the first place. But despite that, Shaw has two perfectly working eyes and she's been frustratingly strung along for the past two weeks so if she stares, nobody can blame her, especially not when Root's wearing a scoop neck dress and pair of stilettos that add a few inches to her already tall form.

Shaw's glad she decided to wear heeled boots. It at least elevates her above boob-level, though now that she thinks about it, had she opted to go with something flatter a face full of Root's breasts for the remainder of the night wouldn't have been exactly unwelcome.

"Cat got your tongue?" Root's voice is teasing as she approaches, making Shaw snap her eyes up to Root's own. Legs have no business being that  _long_. When she's finally standing in front of her, Root bends down and places a quick peck on Shaw's pouting, unresponding lips. "Worth the wait?" She asks in a low, syrupy voice.

Shaw's mouth slackens in acquiescence as Root leans back in and deepens the kiss before she can properly answer. "We're going to be late for our reservation," she mumbles. It sounds unconvincing at best because her mind is distracted by Root's tongue sliding against her own and how Root's hips feel beneath her fingertips through the fabric of the dress. But then her stomach grumbles again, and she parts their lips with a slight  _smack_. "And I'm starving."

"You could always eat m—"

"Root."

"Worth a shot," Root grins before stepping past Shaw and heading towards the parking lot. Shaw has to take indignantly long strides to catch up to her and is just glad that no one's around to see her do it. "Do I need to remind you of the little show you put on my bed?"

Shaw smirks; she's been feeling smug about that one all week. However, she doesn't answer as they round the corner and the parking lot comes into view. Root glances at her questioningly as she stalks past the standard SUVs. 

Her face lights up seconds later when she spots the dark Mustang Shaw's making a beeline for, though.

"Another one of Harry's?"

"Please," Shaw scoffs. "Finch wouldn't know where to begin with this much horsepower at his fingertips. This baby's mine."

Root traces a finger along the hood as she walks around to the passenger's side, humming lightly. 

"What?"

"It's..." Root gives the car an appreciative once over before locking eyes with Shaw over the roof. "...kind of sexy. Ever christen the backseat?"

" _No_ ," Shaw says, unable to help the amused smile teasing at her lips. She unlocks and opens the door, ducking inside. Root's still silently entertaining the thought as she follows suit, but Shaw's more distracted by the way her dress rides up when she crosses her legs. When she's found her voice again, she starts the car and warns, "Better hold on tight, Root."

Shaw doesn't  _speed_ per se, because the thrill isn't necessarily worth the hassle of a potential ticket, but she does get them into town significantly faster than Joss did. Shaw chalks it up to the roads being even less barren than usual. Root makes a comment about her just being skilled with her hands, voice full of meaning and looking like she's frankly about to pounce on Shaw any moment, but the restaurant is coming into view and Shaw hasn't forgotten that she hasn't eaten a proper meal since noon. And if they start something now, the exertion will just make it (and her mood) worse. 

"Fair point," Root concedes when Shaw tells her as much. Tipping her head thoughtfully, she adds, "And I suppose you'll be no use to me if you run out of energy too quickly."

Shaw pulls into a parking spot and throws down the emergency break, puts an arm on the console between them and leans forward, staring Root down with an expression that is full of heat and warning. "You keep testing me and you won't get to see the limits of my energy at all tonight."

"Ooh," Root croons. She doesn't mention the fact that Shaw's blatantly bluffing, just merely looks even more aroused at the dominant card Shaw's playing. Shaw watches her eyelashes flutter and cheeks fill with color—she wouldn't call it a blush exactly because that would imply _embarrassed_ and that's a word she'd never use to describe Root (ever, probably), but the light shade of pink that creeps up her neck and settles right over her cheekbones is there all the same. "I like it when you're bossy."

Shaw keeps her voice low and hot. "Oh, yeah?" Root nods, staring at Shaw's mouth as it slowly spreads into a smile. "Then get your ass out of my car, because we're here."

"No fun," Root pouts, obliging anyway. Shaw, when she steps out and walks around the front of the vehicle, doesn't miss the way Root rubs her thighs together to ease some of the tension she's no doubt feeling down there. Root falls into step with her as they approach the main entrance, eyes flicking up and reading the neon sign bolted into the side of the dark bricked building. "A steakhouse is a pretty fancy place for a first not-date."

"Well, the only red meat you can get at Thornhill is ground chuck, and Fusco always burns it on the grill," she replies. "A girl has her pleasures."

Root raises an eyebrow, humming neutrally, but doesn't say anything further as Shaw shoves open the restaurant's heavy door and steps inside. The interior is full of dim light, just enough provided so that you don't have to squint to see your menu, and everything is decorated in deep hues of brown and red. It's also fairly busy, but people here tend to mind their own business which is why Shaw favors it. That and the food, obviously.

"Seven o'clock reservation for two. Shaw," she states once she walks up to the hostess' podium, drumming her fingers impatiently on the edge when the hostess takes longer than Shaw's okay with. She either ignores or doesn't notice Shaw's agitation as she scans the leather log book in front of her with her index finger. Root's watching the emotion flicker across her face in amusement before Shaw finally opens her mouth, ready to move things along. 

Except nothing comes out, because Shaw's suddenly looking at a very familiar face over the hostess' shoulder. 

"Shaw," John says in greeting, the word hitching with surprise before his voice turns suspiciously even. Then his gaze shifts and focuses behind her. "And... Root. You look nice."

Shaw can practically feel the entertainment radiating off Root in droves. "Oh, I try." There's a pause and Shaw assumes Root's taking a moment to indicate John's own outfit; he's wearing, believe it or not, an honest-to-god suit. "Special occasion?"

"I, uh—"

He's prevented from finishing as someone comes up behind him, and Shaw can't contain her snort once she sees who it is, cell phone clutched in her hand. "Okay, I got it, it was wedged in the booth—oh."

"'Oh', indeed," Shaw says, pressing her lips together in a crappy attempt at hiding a smirk as Joss abruptly comes to a half, just barely managing to avoid running right into John's side. "Are you two on a date?"

Reese and Carter move hilariously in sync, exchanging a glance and briefly stuttering over their explanation before John suddenly frowns and asks, "Wait. Are  _you_  two on a date?"

Shaw senses Root opening her mouth to answer but Shaw beats her to it, lifting her shoulder in a simple shrug. "Yeah, I guess. Stop deflecting." Shaw glances down at their hands then, how they're just barely brushing, and realization spreads across her face like a wildfire. "Hold on a sec, this isn't your guys' first rodeo. Son of a bitch. How long have you been sneaking around?"

John and Carter swap another look, silently communicating how they want to proceed. Shaw, her patience having resurfaced, waits with a raised brow until Carter lets out a heavy sigh. "A little under six months."

"Huh. I'm impressed, Reese."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Shaw raises her hands at her side. "Nothing. It's just, when you and Zoe were messing around, I clocked you right off the bat. You're not exactly subtle when it comes to your love life."

"Unlike you, you mean?" John replies, tone a tad dry. He sends a pointed, if not questioning look between Shaw and Root.

"Actually, we've all known about them for a while," Joss tells him out the corner of her mouth, expression turning innocent when she spots Shaw's scowl. "What? Root wasn't really hiding anything. And I don't just mean the hickeys."

"She has a point. Though to be fair, I wasn't trying to," Root says, shrugging her shoulders and bumping an unresponsive Shaw in the process. Root and Carter exchange amused glances as their dates stand there grumbling and brooding, respectively, until the hostess comes up and tells Root that their table is ready. 

Joss curls a hand around John's bicep, tugging gently. "C'mon, you can pout in the car," she says, rolling her eyes a little at him. She flashes Root a dimpled smile as she drags John along. "You should try the grilled shrimp, it's delicious. And make sure Shaw shows you a good time, or else me and Zoe will have a few things to say to her. See you back at camp!"

With that, she practically shoves Reese out the front door. Shaw feels Root's hair brushing against her shoulder as she leans forward, lips pressed to her ear and says, "The hostess is waiting, sweetie."

Shaw glares at the woman in question before abruptly stalking toward the dining area; the hostess has to take a few long, quick strides in order to step out in front of Shaw and properly do her job, leading them to a small table pressed up against an open, floor-to-ceiling window. Shaw plops herself unceremoniously in her seat, not bothering to wait for Root, who smiles at and thanks the hostess, before throwing her menu open. She stares at the words rather than reads them, feeling Root's amused gaze burning the top of her head. 

"You told them we were on a date." Shaw grunts noncommittally, but she's hotly aware of the waiter who's currently filling their glasses with water. "So, this not-date  _is_ a date-date, then?"

"Really, you have such a way with words," Shaw says flatly, eyes finally leaving her menu. The waiter's gone, and she sighs when she sees the expectant look on Root's face. "This is me taking you out. Socially. Is that not the basic definition of a date?"

Root tilts her head in acquiescence and doesn't say anything further, lifting her glass to her mouth. Honestly, Shaw doesn't know how to read that and it sort of throws her for a loop, so she returns to frowning at her menu despite knowing what she already wants to order. 

She probably should have stuck to her indignant refusal to call this a first date back there with Reese and Carter because it was familiar ground, something she could hold on to. But oddly enough, when the split-second decision came to either confirm or deny, Shaw had found herself unwilling to risk hurting Root's feelings by adamantly refusing that they were, actually, on a date, like Root would somehow take that as some sort of rejection. 

And really, this is why Shaw simply does not date. Sometimes she doesn't read these things right, and normally that's not a problem. Normally she couldn't care less. This is why she'd implemented her three night system, to avoid complication and confusion and emotion. But there's this big, unknown force funnily pressing down on her at all sides because of  _Root_ , ever since she met her, and it makes Shaw angry. She hates it. 

Except... she doesn't hate Root. And maybe she doesn't hate the feeling, after all. It's just easier to hate than to admit that she doesn't understand it, doesn't know what to do with it. It's like there's a dial within her that's turned up on high, flooding her with so many things that she can't pick which one to focus on, and it's not that Root and whatever she does to Shaw is what cranked it up in the first place; no, maybe it was Shaw herself. Maybe she's just finally trying to listen. 

Or maybe she's just jumping the gun. Overthinking because she can't remember the last time (if ever) she's maybe-probably-definitely cared about someone she's sexually interested in, and not just because of the sex. She hasn't even  _had_ sex with Root yet. 

"Okay, you've just gone on the most intense face journey I've ever witnessed," Root suddenly says. When Shaw doesn't reply, her face creases infinitesimally with concern. "Sameen?"

"I'm not—" Shaw clenches her jaw, glances irately out the window. "I'm not good at this shit."

Root's shoulders sink, but Shaw's not sure if it's from relief or something else, something worse. "Oh."

"Yeah." There's a pause and Shaw pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, deciding that, again, she's said the wrong thing. "Let's just order. I could eat an entire fucking cow, probably."

"Sam," Root says, ducking her head a little so that Shaw's forced to look at her. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm probably no more good at this than you are." When Shaw stares at her questioningly, she shrugs and continues in a light tone, "I mean, did you honestly think a lesbian from a small, bigoted Texas town who spent most of her adolescence with computers before becoming a hacker-slash-criminal mastermind before the age of twenty-five had a lot of opportunity to experience with monogamous relationships?"

Shaw blinks at her, processing, and because she doesn't know what to comment on first, says, "Criminal mastermind? Isn't that stretching it a little?"

Root rolls her eyes, reaching forward and squeezing Shaw's hand briefly. She doesn't linger, correctly guessing that Shaw doesn't need the prolonged contact, at least not now. And that... that makes Shaw pause—because she realizes, suddenly, that Root gets her. She's gotten her since the beginning. Never once, in the near month since they've met, has Root ever acted like she didn't understand what was going on in Shaw's head. 

"Dating is dumb, and we're terrible at it," Shaw says suddenly. "I'm toasting to that."

"With your water?"

"I'm having an epiphany, don't ruin it."

"May I ask what you're having an epiphany about? Or is it just the dumb and dating thing."

"That, but also..." She pauses and catches Root's eye meaningfully, knowing that Root will most likely get what she's trying to convey. That she's done panicking and overthinking and she should stop planning too many moves ahead when she barely knows what she's going to do next. And it makes her feel better knowing that Root's probably fumbling around too, she's just better at acting like she isn't. "It's not completely shitty. With you, at least."

"To first date epiphanies then," Root says, clinking her water glass against Shaw's own before taking a sip. Shaw finds herself finally relaxing, the tightness leaving her shoulders, and Root refocuses her attention on her own menu for all of five seconds before speaking again. "Can I ask you something, though?"

"What?"

"You really didn't know John and Carter had a thing going on?"

"Wait, did  _you_ know?"

"I mean, John sort of looks at her like she's hung the moon, so..." Root raises her eyebrows at the incredulous expression Shaw's giving her. "Sameen, really?"

"The others don't know either," Shaw huffs defensively.

"Lionel doesn't know what the sources of his numerous collar stains are," Root points out, "Zoe and Reese have fucked in the past but it was probably a lust-thing only, so he wouldn't have gone all googly-eyed on her like he does on Carter. And Harold... well, Harry just knows everything. And as our boss, he doesn't really count."

Shaw groans. "Ugh, fine, you have a point," she concedes. "I'm just pissed I didn't notice sooner. I pride myself on my observational skills." She clears her throat, remembering that said skills hadn't been much use to her moments earlier when she was bending herself backwards trying to deduce Root and relationships. "Well, usually."

Root grins like she knows what she means, which, given Shaw's recent epiphanies, is probably accurate. "We'll put them to the test after dinner. Something tells me you'll make a good student. Attentive."

"God, you're a nerd," Shaw says fondly, rolling her eyes. "You ready to order? The waiter's coming back."

*

"You weren't joking when you said you were starving," Root comments amusingly as they walk out of the restaurant and climb back into the Mustang an hour later. Shaw hums contently; she'd put away more than half of the complimentary bread basket, her entire steak, and some of Root's leftover shrimp because Root didn't want to take it home and Shaw refused to let her waste it. So, yeah, she's currently what you'd call  _full_. Still, she's not feeling entirely useless.

"I don't joke about hunger," she replies seriously, making Root let out a tiny, fond scoff that comes out a bit choked at the end as Shaw, because she's nothing if not safe, curls her index finger around the seat belt over Root's waist and tugs, making sure she's buckled in. Her nail scrapes lightly against Root's lower abdomen with the movement. Before Root can properly respond, however, Shaw draws her hand away and uses it to turn the key in the ignition, backing out of the parking space like a pro and pulling back out on to the main road. She think she manages to hide her smirk just as well.

Shaw, uncharacteristically but nonetheless purposefully, keeps the car at an unhurried speed. Five minutes in and she glances at Root out of the corner of her eye, pleased when she sees her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her knee bouncing restlessly. 

"What's the matter, Root?" She asks snidely. "Uncomfortable?"

Root bares her teeth in what's probably supposed to be a smile. "Not the word I'd use, sweetie."

Reaching over, Shaw drags the pads of her index and middle finger up Root's inner thigh, ignoring the way Root parts her legs in favor of skimming the back of her hand up her torso. Shaw manages to pinch Root's nipple through the cup of her bra; the awkward angle pays off when Root arches off the seat with a little gasp, pushing her chest into Shaw's wondering hand. 

When Shaw doesn't do much else besides teasingly trace the cut of Root's dress, Root impatiently snatches her wrist and shoves her hand to the junction of her thighs. Shaw's throat goes dry when she realizes Root's not wearing any underwear, her cunt hot and damp beneath her fingers.

"Either drive faster or pull over," Root commands, the fact that it comes out breathless not belying the order. Shaw groans, eyes quickly scanning the street for a proper place to park up before spotting a familiar side road she knows will lead them back to the campgrounds. It's a slightly longer drive, but the road is even less used than the main one and there are a few well-placed and conveniently abandoned buildings along the way. Shaw picks the least desolate-looking one and has barely thrown the car in park and switched off the headlights before Root's grabbing at her impatiently. 

Shaw, because she's pragmatic, swings a leg over the middle console and slips into Root's lap.

"Shut up, your legs are too stupidly long to have done that smoothly, and you're wearing stilettos," she grumbles in explanation before slotting their mouths together, kissing away the amused look that had momentarily cut through the aroused expression on Root's face. 

Root hums in agreement but says, "We should probably get in the backseat, anyway."

Growling impatiently, Shaw angles her shoulders between the two front seats and unceremoniously pushes off the dashboard so that she slides into the back. Because she's too tall, Root has to physically get out of the car and reenter from the back door; Shaw spends the time it takes her divulging herself of her clothes, manages to get her shirt unbuttoned and her pants shoved halfway down her thighs before Root's climbing back inside, crowding her legs forward so that she can slam the door behind her. She's already kicked her heels off and away, yanks Shaw's own boots off and tosses them somewhere that isn't here, and Shaw's still trying to squirm out of her pants, deciding that she hates the skinny cut more than anything in this very moment.

Root chuckles at her clear struggle but only helps her get one pant leg free before letting the other one get uselessly trapped around Shaw's calf. Shaw doesn't bother trying to shake it all the way off, too distracted by the way Root's suddenly leaning forward and sucking at her rib cage beneath the band of her bra. She arches up, fingers digging into Root's bare shoulder, and is glad that Root had the sense to wear a dress because she doesn't think she'd be able to fight another pair of pants. With the dress, all she has to do is hike it up around Root's hips and then she's granted easy access, her fingers gliding through slick. She teases for all of a second, earning herself an impatient whine, before bending the leg Root's got trapped between her own and pressing her thigh roughly against Root's cunt. 

"Gonna ride it?" Shaw asks hotly into her mouth. Root nods, but Shaw wants to hear her say it, so she digs her fingers into Root's hips meaningfully.

"Yeah," Root gasps, dragging her hand down Shaw's mostly bare torso. Shaw hisses when Root scrapes her nails all the way down her abdomen; the burn feels good, makes her clench her own cunt around nothing. "But I'm going to make you come before I do."

And with that, Root slips her hand beneath Shaw's underwear and cups her sex briefly before sliding a finger in, making Shaw bite down on Root's upper lip. Through the pleasure coiling through her belly she remembers to give as good as she's getting, flexing her thigh muscle against Root, and her mouth goes dry at the wetness she feels there, at the way Root clamps down and rolls her hips without missing a beat where she's got her fingers on Shaw's cunt. She's still only using one finger, curls it inside of Shaw before sliding out and giving an upward stroke against Shaw's clit that has her jerking. Root apparently likes how the movement jostles against her own clit, because she whines lowly and does it again.

Shaw wants to make Root come first, but she's only got her thigh to use at this angle and Root's fingers are skilled and skinny; she slides three inside of Shaw, drags her fingertips against a spot that has Shaw seeing stars before pulling them back out and trapping Shaw's clit between her index and middle fingers. Shaw's shoulders are shaking with the exertion of holding her lower body up to try and provide better access, though in hindsight she thinks it's mostly because she's just close, because suddenly Root's rapidly dragging the pad of her finger back and forth across Shaw's clit and she's coming, twisting her body sideways and pressing her forehead against the seat, free hand shooting out and clawing at the back of the driver's one behind her. 

She huffs out short, stuttering breaths as she recovers, moaning when Root taps once against Shaw's clit before leaning down and sucking at the hinge of Shaw's jaw. She brings her lips up to Shaw's ear and asks, "How was that, Sam?"

"My limbs feel stupid," Shaw mumbles.

"Earlier, you kind of implied you weren't going to run out of energy prematurely," Root reminds lightly.

Shaw shoves gently at Root's shoulder to get her to sit up so that she can properly roll on to her back, smiles lazily when the movement shifts Root's cunt where it's still pressed to her thigh, hot and yet to be taken care of. Shaw sticks her tongue out and crooks two fingers, indicating for Root to climb forward. "That was before I knew you had magic digits. Must be all the typing, I've never been with a computer nerd before."

Root chuckles even as she lowers herself over Shaw's face and Shaw's tongue darts back out to lick a stripe up her center, doesn't answer in favor of letting Shaw's mouth remain occupied with it's current task. Shaw angles her jaw and pushes her tongue past her entrance, stretching it as far as she can before curling it upward and dragging it back out, replacing it with two fingers. At the new intrusion Root whines and twitches when Shaw finds her G-spot, has to catch herself with a palm wetly slapping against the window above Shaw's head. She groans against Root's cunt, drags her tongue higher and flicks it firmly but sparingly against Root's clit as she grinds little circles against the lower half of Shaw's face. 

She waits until Root's movements become a little more desperate and frantic before she decides to go all in, flexing her fingers and catching Root's clit between her slick lips and sucking hard. Root sobs, lets out a breathy and skipping " _oh_ " that tingles Shaw's ears; grabs the top of Shaw's head and holds her in place like she's actually going to go anywhere as she fucks her towards her climax. When Root does come, her spine goes rigid and her voice goes high and the sight makes Shaw yank her free hand away and press it between her own legs. She keeps her mouth on Root through it all, harshly breathing through her nose as her second orgasm quickly crests over her.

Quickly becoming oversensitive, Root peels herself off Shaw's chin with a wet sound and collapses against the opposite door, their legs tangled together. She's got her eyes closed; Shaw watches her from beneath lowered eyelashes, feeling smug and exhausted.

"There's a joke about you and your love of eating to be made somewhere, but I'm too gone to try and think of it right now."

"Oral sex, one of my many talents," Shaw says with a tiny grin.

Root hums tiredly, breathing deeply for a moment. "Do you think we could get away with sleeping here for the night?"

"I'd rather not wake up to search parties with my pants down. Harold would freak."

"John and Joss could vouch for our safety."

"How about you stay back here, I'll drive us home. No moving on your part required."

"My hero. I'll tell stories about your aftercare skills," she slurs, reaching down and patting Shaw's knee. "Wake me up when we get to camp, I won't make you carry me to my cabin. Maybe I'll have the use of my legs back by then."

Shaw yanks her own leg halfheartedly. "You're sitting on my clothes."

Groaning, Root shifts and tugs Shaw's pants out from under her butt. She cracks her eyes open to watch Shaw get dressed, eyeing her hips with mild interest as Shaw fixes her underwear and pulls her pants back on, but doesn't move an inch. However, she does look a little forlorn as Shaw buttons up her shirt, muttering, "Didn't even get you out of your bra. Have I mentioned I've been kind of fixated on your boobs since the first day of camp?"

"Next time, and no, you haven't," Shaw replies with a smirk. 

"There's gonna be a next time?"

"You seriously asking me that after what just happened here?"

Root pouts. "The endorphins are making me dumb. I'm exhausted, Shaw."

Snorting, Shaw leans forward and pecks Root on the mouth; she hums lowly at the taste of herself on Shaw's lips, but doesn't really respond. Shaw rolls her eyes. "You're useless," she says in amusement before squeezing herself back into the front. She opts not to put her shoes back on, her bare toes just managing to reach the pedals, and rolls down her window as soon as she's got the key turned.

"Good call, it smells like sex back here," Root remarks, and then, with a surprising amount of excitement given her post-properly fucked state: "Hey, we christened the backseat!"

The breeze feels good against Shaw's clammy skin as she shakes her head in fond exasperation.

"Go to sleep, loser."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some things:  
> 1) there was a tad bit of angst thrown in but it was mostly for introspective reasons and i quashed it before it could fester  
> 2) is this what rachel weisz felt like preparing for disobedience? because i read a lot of smutfic in preparation of this moment  
> 3) I MISS JOCELYN CARTER WITH ALL MY HEART
> 
> so i'm thinking one more chapter and then an epilogue folks! remember when i first posted this and said i was aiming for 3 chapters? yeah, you could say this story got a bit ahead of me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy this final chapter before the epilogue, it's a bit shorter and a lot fluffier than the rest :)

_Two weeks_ _later_

"I didn't know you could tie knots." Root's voice is heated and low when it suddenly sounds besides Shaw's ear. Despite it being well over eighty degrees Shaw shivers just a bit, but her fingers don't falter where they're finishing up securing the rope around the bolt in the ground she'd jammed in a few minutes ago. She tugs experimentally when she's done, making sure that the banner its tied to is being properly supported. Shaw stands, smirking when Root just barely manages to back up with her so they don't collide. 

"You getting ideas?"

"Hm. Just filing away some useful information for later," Root replies, eyes and voice full of meaning, then glances up to read the banner. "'End Of Summer Barbecue'. Straightforward. Is that yours or John's handiwork?"

"It was a collaborative effort," Shaw says. 

There's the sound of huffing, footsteps, and wrinkling plastic and they watch as Zoe comes up from the side, her arms full of packages of multicolored balloons. "It couldn't have killed you two to try harder? You used black paint, for crying out loud."

"It's just a stupid banner. And technically, not even an accurate one.  _Camp's_ ending, not summer." Shaw points out, wrinkling her nose when Zoe tears open one of the bags. "I'm not helping you blow all those up."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare ask you to. Root would inevitably fixate on your mouth and drag you off somewhere secluded, leaving me to do it by myself anyways."

The corner of Shaw's lips tip up in a smile, deepening when she and Root meet eyes. Carter walks up then, plopping herself on the grass beside Zoe and wincing a little as she tries to get comfortable, the blades digging into the back of her thighs. She eyes the balloon packages warily before sighing in defeat and reaching over to snatch the one Zoe has halfway to her mouth out of her hand. "All that money and Harold couldn't have splurged on a helium tank? Or even a pump?"

Root, deciding to help, sits down and Shaw reluctantly follows suit, but still refuses to pitch in. She leans back on her hands and watches as Root's deft fingers pick up a new package and rip it open; Shaw dodges with a scowl when she tosses a purple balloon at her face. 

"Why don't we just make Fusco blow these up? He could use the breathing exercise."

"Because he'd pass out after two and a half balloons," Joss says. "We don't need all these, anyway. Zoe just went overboard."

Zoe smirks. "Doesn't hurt to be too prepared," she replies. "Besides, we have to make up for that seriously lackluster banner with extra colorful decorations."

"Hey, I think we did a pretty good job," Reese says, walking up to the group and depositing the four mesh bags of sporting equipment he'd been carrying on the grass.

"Remember that episode of The Office where Dwight hangs up a banner that says 'IT IS YOUR BIRTHDAY'?" Root asks. "Yeah, this is exactly like that."

Carter and Zoe snicker into their balloons as John, looking a bit put out, bends down and digs out a stack of mini orange cones from one of the bags. Shaw grunts, "If you guys wanted something flashy, I don't know why you picked me and Reese. I mean, this is a computer programming camp. Couldn't you have just whipped up something nerdy on a giant monitor and called it a day?"

"Are you kidding? It'd overheat. The direct sunlight is bad for electronics."

"Then don't complain," Shaw says, shifting herself so that she's on her back, hands now folded beneath her head. She closes her eyes, relishing in the shade of the giant oak tree rooted a few feet away from their little balloon-blowing circle, and smiles. "Anyway, it's a statement of fact."

She feels Root poke her teasingly in her side. "Quoting The Office? Nerd." Without looking Shaw can tell Root's making to jab her again, and she snatches Root's hand midair and tugs her forward so that she crashes half on to Shaw's body with a laugh.

"You two are sickeningly cute," Zoe comments.

Shaw, eyes still closed, lifts her middle finger and says, "Fuck off, Morgan."

" _Ms. Shaw_." Zoe puts on her best impression of a reprimanding Finch, making them all chuckle. Even John, who's seemed to recovered from being offended over the rightful criticism of their admittedly shitty banner and is now positioning the cones around the empty expanse of grass, smiles. 

"Ms. Morgan," The real Harold suddenly says, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. "I must admit, that's a rather apt impersonation."

"Why thank you, Finch. Want to see my Robert De Niro?"

Joss smirks. "Get John drunk enough and he'll sing Destiny's Child."

"Hey, that was done in confidence," he mumbles grumpily.

Shaw snorts. "Carter, you didn't record it?"

Finch glances between the group, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. "Remind me not to ask what you all get around to in your free time."

"You should join us, Harold," John says, walking up behind the smaller man and clapping a hand on his shoulder. "The world's not gonna end if you relax a little."

"Perhaps not, Mr. Reese," Finch replies with a tiny smile. "But for now, we better get to work. The parents and guardians will start arriving at any moment, so Ms. Shaw, if you'd save your nap for later?"

"Yeah, yeah," Shaw grumbles, sitting up and getting to her feet. "I'm going to go make sure Lionel's not butchering the food."

She stalks away, taking her time, but doesn't actually manage to find Fusco as she gets reluctantly roped in to rescuing Leon, one of the campers, from getting his ass pummeled by a group of older girls. Shaw can't help the impressed look she gives Frankie, Harper, and Dani—their stances are textbook, and nobody's around to reprimand her for not properly punishing them for nearly breaking Tao's nose. The thing's not even bleeding but Leon, because he's Leon, is making a big deal out of it anyway. Shaw jerks her head at the girls, indicating for them to leave, before pushing the kid forward. 

"I'm not even going to ask what you did because you probably deserved it."

"Hey! I—well, you know—" Leon's shoulders sink and he bows his head. "Yeah."

Shaw rolls her eyes. "Try not to piss anybody else off before you go home, kid."

Grinning, Leon shoves his hands in his pockets and walks off, wisely heading in the opposite direction the girls had gone. Shaw watches him—not even a whole two minutes have gone by before he's chatting up another group of vaguely annoyed-looking campers, but she figures somebody else will save him if he gets into any more trouble. The kid's good at weaseling himself out of bad situations when he's not being saved by blind luck and she's done her deed for the day, so she turns back around and makes a beeline for the grilling area.

Turns out Fusco  _is_ burning the food, but he refuses her help when she gets a bit aggressive over a slab of mildly charred ribs. She's halfway to wrestling the cooking tongs out of his hand when somebody clears their throat behind her and Lionel looks over her shoulder with an expression that's half indignation, half relief.

"Hey, Loony Tunes, grab your girlfriend and get out of here, huh? She's trying to give me a black eye over well-done meat."

Shaw scowls, "That's not  _well-done_ , Lionel," but doesn't put up a fight when Root curls her slender fingers in the crook of Shaw's elbow and tugs, indicating for her to follow.

"C'mon, sweetie, or else Lionel might not feed you at all," she warns in amusement.

Huffing, Shaw glares at him one last time before letting Root drag her behind a cluster of trees a little down the way, doesn't even realize that Root had loosely wrapped her fingers around Shaw's wrist until she leans back against a trunk and her hand, released, falls down to her side. Part of Shaw weirdly misses the casual contact but she doesn't comment on it; however, after five seconds she does frown, and Root leans forward and kisses the crease between her eyebrows.

In hindsight, Shaw thinks the fact that she lets Root do it says a lot, but for the moment she's distracted by what Lionel had said.

"He called me your girlfriend," she mumbles, and because Root's stretched above her, the words get absorbed in the smooth expanse of her throat. When Root hums in agreement, the vibrations are faint against Shaw's lips. 

"He did," she replies, falling back on her heels. Her voice is low but light; casual. Shaw guesses she's giving her the space to act how she needs to, think it over and process what to say next. The past two weeks have been something, most of it definitely good, but it's still new to both of them and there have been some days where Shaw doesn't know what to do and neither does Root (though, to be frank, Shaw's are a bit more frequent). And it should be weird how they've gotten really proficient at reading each other's cues in such a short amount of time, but it's not, and Shaw's chest loosens with that thought.

"Does that... bother you?" She asks hesitantly.

"No," Root answers with a small smile, a tilt of her head. "You?"

Shaw purses her lips, eyes flicking up in thought. "I don't think so. No." She scoffs. "Huh, that's weird."

"Weird that I'm your girlfriend?"

"Weird that it's not weird."

Root's eyes fill with what Shaw can only call warmth, and she parts her lips willingly when Root bends down to capture them with her own. It's more than a peck, though it's definitely chaste, and Root nips gently on Shaw's bottom lip as she pulls away before they get  _carried_ away. 

"Parents are arriving," she explains with an apologetic smile when Shaw, for lack of a better word, pouts.

"Ugh. Fine. But as soon as the last kid leaves at the end of this stupid thing, I'm dragging you back to my cabin."

"Yes, ma'am," Root grins, pulling Shaw out from behind the tree. They don't hold hands, but they do walk close enough to one another that their shoulders bump every few steps, and Shaw can't help the smile that flits across her face.

*

Shaw takes one look at the rope clutched in Gen's fist and scowls, shaking her head. "No way in  _hell_."

"Harold doesn't like that kind of talk," Gen replies, wiggling the rope in front of her face. "I won't tell him if you just take this."

"I don't give a shit if you tell him. Camp's done for the summer. He can't make any more empty threats to fire me until next year."

"But Root already said she'd do it!"

"Root can bite me," Shaw sniffs, turning her head and ignoring the very real fact that Root has, quite literally, done that before. On multiple occasions. "What do we even get if we win, anyway? A shiny, star-shaped sticker?"

"Actually, I think you get that trophy over there. Harold had it custom made."

Shaw can't help but briefly eye the golden trophy perched on the judges' table with interest, but forces herself to look away after a few seconds. Gen's grinning up at her with a look of innocence that is doing nothing to hide the real haughty expression underneath it. "If you win, I get to brag about having the most talented camp counselor as a mentor."

"I'm not your mentor," Shaw retorts, frowning. "And I'm already the most talented camp counselor."

Gen raises her eyebrows, leaning to the side and indicating at something behind Shaw with her finger. "Really? Because John and Joss are walking up to the starting line right now. I think John's trying to prove he's better than you."

"I know what you're doing, kid, and you're piss poor at it." Shaw rolls her eyes, snatching the rope out of Gen's hand anyway. She'll be damned if she lets Reese win at something she can handily kick his ass at; Carter's loss will just have to be collateral damage. 

Gen's face lights up in a hundred watt smile and she calls out to Shaw's retreating back, "Break a leg! Well, not literally, because then there's no way you'd stand a chance of winning, but you know what I mean!"

Shaw waves a hand over her shoulder, stomping up to where Root's leaning with her hip against the edge of the judge's table, talking to Zoe. Shaw doesn't even wait for Root to properly register her sudden appearance before she's snatching her up by the hand and dragging her to the start-off point, lining their legs together and reaching down to secure the rope around both of their ankles. When she stands back up, she ignores the deeply amused expression Root's watching her with in favor of meeting John's eyes, narrowed in a challenge. Beside him, glancing between both him and Shaw, Joss shakes her head.

"I guess Gen convinced you to take part in the three-legged race after all," Root comments.

"Oh, we're winning this thing," Shaw says seriously. John and Carter are the only competition that she's really concerned about, not really perceiving the other paired-up parents around them as genuine threats. "I'm going to rub that trophy in his face, Reese is such a sore loser."

Root snorts. "Right.  _Reese_ is," she says, but gets into a ready-to-run stance anyway. Harold makes the rounds and checks to see if everyone's ropes are properly tied, then shuffles off to the finish line. He nods at the camper serving as commentator—Logan, Shaw thinks his name is—and the kid clears his throat into the mic situated in front of his face before telling the participants to get into position. There's no gun to kick off the race, because Harold's wary of those, so they rely on Logan's three-count before kicking off the grass on go. 

And really, this shit's harder than Shaw expected it to be. Not only is their height difference severely hindering their movement, but Shaw's also a tad faster (and okay, eager) than Root is, so she has to keep slowing down in order to prevent some game-changing stumbling. Fortunately Reese and Joss seem to be having the same problem, and the four of them are literally toe-to-toe, struggling along the stretch of grass to the finish line.

A few steps later and Reese's shoe gets caught in a conveniently placed gopher hole, sending him and Joss down in a crumbling tower of limbs. Shaw snorts triumphantly, but pushes faster because the finish line is  _right_   _there_ and John and Carter are already climbing back up to their feet. Their tumble has apparently put them in sync because they hobble quickly and catch back up to Root and Shaw in no time.

Huffing in annoyance, Shaw wraps her arm around Root's waist in order to support their own movements, and—

And the whistle blows, signaling the end of the race. There's the sound of excited cheering and it's definitely not coming from Shaw and Root, who haven't even crossed the finish line yet. Shaw brings her eyes to the source of the celebration and is greeted by the not-so-pleasant sight of none other than Fusco trying to chest bump the parent he's still ankle tied to and just barely managing to catch himself on the gold trophy that Zoe's trying to hand to him. 

After they're all cut loose, Fusco comes bounding over to where they're hovering near the snack table, his smug smile shining brighter than the actual evidence of his victory. "Ha! What do you think about that, eh?"

Shaw rolls her eyes and beside her, John stares at Lionel, completely unamused. "And I thought _you_ were a sore loser," he tells her under his breath.

"Says the King Sore Loser himself," she grouses.

"Serves the both of you right," Joss says. "I'm covered in grass stains because of your guys' stupid competitive streak."

Root looks over her in sympathy, but gives Fusco a bright smile anyway. Shaw knows it's supposed to be kind, but there's a teasing undertone to it that Shaw thinks only she catches. "Congratulations, Lionel, you deserve it. Though I am disappointed I won't get to act out on the  _numerous_ creative uses I had in store for that trophy later," she says, eyes flitting meaningfully to Shaw.

Fusco's face creases in a grimace. "Ew, I don't even want to know what goes on inside of that freaky head of yours. I'm getting out of here before you get any more ideas."

Shaw snickers as he trudges off with his trophy, glancing at Root. "Nice one."

"Though seriously, I'm not sure whether you were really bluffing or not," John says warily.

Root just smiles at him until he gets uncomfortable enough to look at Joss for help, who just smirks and bumps him with her shoulder. "C'mon, let's leave BD and SM to themselves," she jokes, squeezing Root's shoulder warmly as they pass by.

Shaw turns to face the snack table with a vaguely smug expression on her face, lips pressed together in a smile as she pours a pile of Doritos on to a napkin. She shoves one of them whole into her mouth, crunching rather loudly, and scrunches her nose when she realizes Root's watching her. "What?"

"You're scaring away the parents," she replies, indicating a snobby-looking woman shooting the pair of them a dirty look. "It's cute."

Shaw pointedly shoves another handful of chips into her mouth and Root stifles her laugh into her shoulder as the woman snatches a bottle of water from the table, scoffing in offense as she leaves. Shaw starts chewing normally when she's gone, eyes glinting with humor. "Wait till I get my hands on those non-burnt ribs. She'll be scandalized."

"Make it extra dirty for me?" Root jokes with a lopsided grin, and Shaw snorts as they walk over to the picnic tables. 

They kill an hour eating, Shaw pulling through with her promise of putting on a messy show of devouring her food, not bothering to wipe her mouth until she's absolutely finished. She lets Root wipe away a smudge of barbecue sauce she'd missed with her thumb, eyes darkening a bit when Root sucks it between her lips, looking at Shaw from beneath her lashes. Unfortunately, Shaw's not really looking to put on  _that_ sort of show right now but she does give Root a look that promises 'later' before downing her soda and deliberately baring her neck because she knows how much Root likes it. 

After food, they flit around from activity to activity, though Shaw refuses to allow herself to be dragged into any more games. She does watch with amusement as Root and Gen go head-to-head in a hula hoop contest; Gen sucks and she gets sulky about it, but Root looks completely ridiculous and something warm passes through Shaw's chest at the sight of her long arms flailing about in order to keep her balance. And then Gen gives up, throwing the hoop over a passing and unsuspecting Reese's head, and Joss and Zoe don't let him weasel out of it, spinning the ring around his waist before it can fall to the ground. He eventually gives in with a shrug, standing next to Root and looking even more gangly and awkward than she does, but they make for a very entertaining act.

Root bounds up to Shaw afterward, red-faced and grinning broadly. Shaw can't help but reflect it, it's infectious, but she tries to hide it behind a very weak eye roll.

It isn't long before Root's breathlessness starts to affect Shaw and a low burn of arousal alights in her gut. She wraps her hand around Root's elbow and clenches meaningfully, doesn't miss the way Root glances down at her mouth before biting her own bottom lip. Luckily the sun is setting and Shaw, just like she'd said earlier, drags Root back to her cabin as soon as the barbecue is over and does some very, very enlightening things to her with her tongue, if the things Root calls out beneath her are anything to go by. 

She lets Root stay the night in her bed and is glad when Root doesn't make a big deal out of it being the first time, just tangles a leg between Shaw's own and wordlessly drifts off to sleep. They'll have to leave the campgrounds tomorrow, taking separate cars because it's not like either of them can leave theirs behind, but their destination is the same. They can make plans for when they get back into the city or later in the week. Or both.

Shaw's not worried about it. She doesn't think she's getting rid of Root anytime soon and, unlike the first day they met, she doesn't want to. They've— _she's_ —come a long way.

With that, she presses her nose to Root's shoulder and falls asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shaw's a begrudging cuddler, i'm right


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here we are at the end of the line. i'd like to thank everyone for all the nice things they had to say about this fic, it's been a very fun ride! enjoy this short, sleepy-fluffy-smutty epilogue and expect more stories from me in the near future.

It's with a small sense of alarm that Shaw wakes, in a bed that's too soft to be her own and a room with walls colored dark red and not the light grey Zoe had given her shit over before helping her paint anyway. But her bearings come back to her as she quickly shakes off the remaining dregs of sleep. She's spent at least half of the past month's mornings in this very apartment, waking up to the same person that's still snoring softly beside her, yet her body still hasn't grown used to the change in routine. It always takes her a moment to register where she is and it's more than a little bit irritating, but she tells herself that this— _ugh_ —monogamous lifestyle is still new to her, something she's still growing used to. This big of a change takes time.

Speaking of, her eyes flick to the clock on the other side of the bed, the numbers peeking out above Root's shoulder. It's early, the sun just barely risen and casting shadows over Root's back, still bare from last night's activities. She's on her side, facing away from Shaw, and the sheet's resting low enough on her hips that the red lines Shaw'd left last night are mostly visible. Shaw traces them lightly with a smug smirk, recalling perfectly the sound Root had made when she'd dug her nails in and the sheer power of Root's resulting orgasm a few seconds later.

And with that thought, Shaw's horny. It's not the pressing need-type though, more a dull, pleasant throb suitable for the morning. She props herself on one elbow and curls the index and middle fingers on her free hand around Root's hip, tugging a little to check if she's close enough to consciousness. Root doesn't so much as grumble in protest, just exhales deeper, so Shaw pushes herself up to a full sitting position before coaxing Root on to her back and watching as her only reaction is to nestle her head in the pillow and softly smack her lips. Shaw waits for her breath to completely even out again before pulling back the sheet completely and gently parting Root's legs, easing herself in between them before planting a kiss to Root's abdomen. 

When she glances up to check if she's still asleep, Shaw has to stop herself from huffing out a scoff against Root's navel. If she knows they have no immediate plans for the day, Root can, and most definitely will, sleep through anything. 

She presses a kiss to the same spot before swirling her tongue in Root's belly button. Not even one of her more sensitive spots being shown attention is enough to stir her so Shaw gives herself the green light to be a little less gentle, nipping at the curve and sucking a line of small, mouth-shaped circles to the top of Root's cunt, stopping right above her clit. She moves her head to bite at Root's inner thighs, smooths her tongue over the pink marks despite not adding enough pressure to actually bruise or even hurt, but the soft sensation makes Root shift overhead. When Shaw looks up Root's still not awake, but her eyebrows are a bit furrowed and the fingers on the upturned hand beside her head are twitching. Shaw smiles as she bends back down; what she's doing must be influencing a very nice sex dream, no doubt. 

Sure enough, when Shaw drags the very tip of her middle finger through Root's lips, she's already wet. She makes a small sound when Shaw massages around her entrance, sleep sighs when Shaw slides into the first knuckle, but otherwise doesn't show any signs of coming to. Slowly, Shaw retracts her hand, a bit fascinated with the way Root's muscles try to keep her finger in place and glad that Root's not awake to scrutinize her own scrutiny.

Eventually, though, Shaw gets bored of not having her mouth occupied so she twists her palm to face the ceiling, positions two fingers at Root's entrance and pushes all the way inside at the same time as she leans forward and sucks Root's swollen clit between her lips. Root makes a noise that sounds distinctly like a whimper and Shaw can't help but moan against her cunt, eyebrows scrunching together in determination. She alternates between twice-flicking her tongue and sucking, using her fingers to tease around Root's G-spot in order to draw this out, but also because she likes watching the way Root's eyelashes flutter against her cheeks whenever Shaw touches close-but-not-enough. 

But somewhere along the line Shaw's own eyes must close, because suddenly she feels fingers sliding through her hair on the top of her head and when she opens them and looks up she meets Root's gaze straight on, full of sleep-laced heat. Shaw grunts, finally bumps the tips of her fingers against Root's G-spot and is rewarded with the sight of her mouth dropping open, chest heaving in deep breaths. 

Root comes with a quiet "fuck, Shaw" that belies the strength with which she grips Shaw's hair and clamps her thighs on either side of her head, twisting to the side. Shaw goes with her and doesn't take her mouth off Root's clit until her entire body relaxes with a long sigh and she brushes her thumb against Shaw's hairline, silently communicating her overstimulation.

Shaw crawls back up the bed feeling self-satisfied despite her own aching need; flops down and rests her head in her hand as she watches Root, sprawled on her back and blinking at the ceiling. 

"You are incredibly good at that," Root says a minute later, turning her head to smile at Shaw when she snorts a quiet laugh. "So good, in fact, that I'm not even going to ask what time it is."

"I thought you were going to sleep through your orgasm for a second there."

Root hums and stretches her hands above her head, saying, "I almost did, out of sheer stubborn will," but Shaw is too busy staring at her breasts. Root grins, hooks a hand around the back of Shaw's neck and pulls her down in a long, slow kiss, humming at the remaining taste of herself on Shaw's tongue. 

Moaning quietly, Shaw slots a leg between Root's and, without any preamble, grinds herself down on Root's thigh. Root digs her fingers into Shaw's hips and flows with her movements for a while before rolling them over and prying their lips apart with a wet sound that makes Shaw clench. She kisses a trail down Shaw's sternum and sucks a nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the hardened nub before biting a little and doing the same to the other one. Shaw growls impatiently, shoving at Root's head in an attempt to try to get her to go lower regardless of the fact that Root normally punishes such pushiness by dragging things out agonizingly slowly. But Shaw thinks she can probably get away with it this time for waking Root up with such a pleasantly powerful orgasm and she's right, because Root just makes a disapproving sound against the curve of Shaw's breast before acquiescing.  

And then Root's got her mouth on her, and she must know that Shaw's in need of a tunnel-visioned climax because she wastes no time in getting her there, sucking and pulling on her clit with reckless abandon. Shaw comes hard and fast as soon as Root's got a finger crooked inside of her, heel digging into Root's shoulder blade and palms pressed into the mattress.

Shaw's eyelids are heavy and she's buzzing pleasantly as Root peppers soft kisses to the tops of her thighs afterwards, doesn't even budge when Root gets out of bed and picks up the sheet where it's been kicked to the floor in order to drape it over Shaw's body, belatedly wiping her mouth on the corner. She leans over and presses a kiss to the tip of Shaw's nose, probably knowing that she's too post-orgasm exhausted to effectively scowl at the gesture.

"I guess today's a good time to do laundry as any," Root comments with an amused huff as she takes in the state of their bedding. Shaw, huddled in the middle of the mess, smiles slugglishly.

"If I cook breakfast, will you do it?"

Root rolls her eyes and pokes Shaw in the butt. "Lazy. You started it."

"The only thing you know how to cook is scrambled eggs," Shaw points out. "And we're out of eggs."

"Fine, but you're folding."

"I know. You can't fold for shit," Shaw replies, then rolls over and slips out of bed, padding over to the bathroom with a yawn. She feels Root's appreciative eyes on her butt and pointedly kicks the bathroom door shut behind her, but can't help the smirk that flits across her face as she gets to cleaning herself up. 

When she emerges a few minutes later, Root's already got the bedding stripped and shoved into the basket of her—well,  _their_ dirty clothes. That thought doesn't freak Shaw out as much as it used to when they came back to the city from Thornhill. The very first night she spent over at Root's apartment and, coincidentally, the very first night she spent over at someone's place (someone she was fucking, anyway) at all, had been like throwing Shaw straight into the deep end. She was so used to slipping out as soon as the sex was done that she'd nearly done it then, but she had to force herself to remember that this was  _Root_. And with Root, things were massively different.

So Shaw had stayed, and she had realized it wasn't as fucking weird as she thought it would be. Then she started doing it more regularly. And now here she is, watching Root pick up her discarded boxer briefs with her toes and drop them into the laundry bin, not even bothered by the fact that Root's wearing one of her favorite shirts. It's the Star Wars shirt too, the one that had belonged to her dad and that she'd pretty much kept hidden in her own apartment, saved for lazy days spent lounging about and doing chores much like this one. It's shared property now. Much like a lot of the new things in Shaw's life. 

Happy's not a word she likes to throw around a lot, it doesn't always suit her. So right now she feels... content. Satisfied. 

And hungry. Deciding that her spontaneous mushy reverie is over, Shaw heads to the kitchen to make them breakfast. 

 


End file.
